


Upon This Carcass Of A Hard Cold Heart

by bottledbliss



Category: The Punisher (TV 2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Medieval, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Drama & Romance, F/M, I strive for as much historical accuracy as possible, I'm bound to slip up, Knight!Frank, Lady!Karen, Medieval AU, Mutual Pining, Romance, but let's be real, kastle - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-12
Updated: 2019-06-27
Packaged: 2020-01-12 08:50:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 34,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18443156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bottledbliss/pseuds/bottledbliss
Summary: Sir Francis begrudgingly accepts the task of escorting Lady Katherine, his King's betrothed, on her journey to meet and wed the King.(Title taken from “The Flaming Heart” by Richard Crashaw)





	1. Upon my word

**Author's Note:**

> The AU only a few people asked for, prompted by bookingit! It took me a while to write this, because I went into full research mode as well. Despite the research though, I can't promise complete historical accuracy, so please don't hold that against me. I hope you enjoy this fic. Tell me anything you'd like in the comments! Constructive criticism is very much appreciated too. Love you all and have fun!

_“Grant me the gift of Divine Grace to protect and conquer my five senses, that I may carry out the seven works of mercy, believe in the twelve articles of our Faith, practice the Ten Commandments of the Law and, finally, be delivered from the seven capital sins to the last day of my life.”_

The knights lowered their swords as soon as the prayer was finished, sheathing them quickly. Some took a little longer to do so, thinking perhaps that a short delay was another sign of respect for the Lord their God, like they weren’t itching to get out of there as much as everybody else. Francis was the first one out of the church. He adhered to his religious duties, as he should, but hadn’t felt piety, for anything, in a long time. Sometimes, when he remembered his upbringing, he felt his deeply devout parents would think him a disappointment for losing his faith. But it mattered very little, because they weren’t alive to become disappointed in him. There was no one left alive that he cared for. The benevolent and glorious God of Heaven everybody else prayed to, had reached his benevolent and glorious hand down and taken everything from him; his beloved wife and his precious children. The light of his life, gone, in the blink of an eye. So he did his duty, he said the words –morning, mid-morning, evening and, sometimes, bedtime- but he didn’t believe a single one of them. When his time would come, hubris would be an insignificant spot of dirt on his extensively stained cloak. Hell was all but certain and he could hardly wait until it swallowed him up.

The banner of knights caught up to him, drowning out the noise of his thoughts with their loud prattle, as they all proceeded to the Great Hall of the castle where breakfast was being served. Food was something Francis could still enjoy, even though sitting down at the table and eating under the watchful gaze of the King managed to take a lot of the pleasure out of it. Seeing the young peacock already sat at the High Table, gulping down ale before laughing at something one of his advisors had said, Francis felt his appetite diminish. But he took his seat with as much grace as he could summon and began to eat. King William, spotting him from afar, gave him a small nod of acknowledgement and turned his attention back to his discussion, while Francis felt the bread in his mouth turn stale.

He had been sworn to the previous King and his fealty to him had been unshakable, because King Henry had been a good man and an exceptionally good ruler. Francis had fought for him, slain for him, he had stood by his King’s side with pride. He would have obeyed any of his commands without thinking twice. But his son… His son should not be allowed to rule. Francis occasionally thought he shouldn’t even be allowed to live, however traitorous the thought might be. His own opinion was unimportant though. The man had the right to the throne and when the old King fell ill a few years ago, he had hastily been brought back to the Court from Italy, where people were certain he’d been ‘learning things’. It seemed to Francis that all he had learned was how to disguise his malicious character with charm and poise.

William hadn’t always been horrible and cruel. In fact, there was a time when the two of them regarded each other as friends. That friendship was dead and buried now, along with Francis’s wife and children. If things were different, Francis wouldn’t have given his oath to William. But the old King had asked him to serve his son, serve him and guide him and never let him fall victim to his own vanity, and Francis, who couldn’t deny him anything, had sworn to do his duty. If only he could take his words back, his sword would be sheathed down William’s throat by nightfall.

“A journey will soon be taken,” the Court jester said in a low voice, approaching him from behind.

“I have no interest in your prophecies,” Francis replied and pushed him away. “Go tend to the hounds.”

The jester made his living by playing the fool, but a fool he was not. His job allowed him to move between crowds and collecting rumors and facts without anyone noticing, which he did gladly, delivering them to Francis as soon as he could. However, it would be foolish to discuss serious matters during meals, in front of everyone. Whatever it was that the jester had to tell him, it would have to wait until pell training was finished.

Francis didn’t exactly need to train, there was a general agreement that his fighting skills put the other knights to shame, so he could afford to neglect one session, but he was a creature of habit. And his temper benefited greatly from launching attacks, even if the target was merely a wooden post. What he could easily not attend was the usual warfare discussion that followed. During times of peace, it was more or less pointless to reiterate the same tactics; even if he had the suspicion that their new King wouldn’t show tolerance for peace much longer.

After sword practice ended, Francis slipped past his companions and walked to the hound kennels, grateful to find a bucket of fresh water waiting for him, as the sweat running down his back was making his tunic stick to it. He picked up the bucket and emptied it over his head, which he shook afterwards, much like the dog that had slyly come up to him and was now terribly surprised to find itself wet. Francis laughed and crouched to pet its head, but the poor animal had had enough and ran to the warmth and safety of the kennel. As the dog got back inside, the jester peeked his head out and motioned for Francis to follow him.

“What journey is this then?” Francis asked after the jester had closed the door behind him.

“It is said that the King means to take a wife,” said he.

“I have heard.”

“He has found a Lady that pleases him. Her portrait was shown to him last night and he has agreed to the betrothal.”

Francis sighed and placed his hands on the man’s shoulders. “David, did you call me here to discuss the King’s nuptials? Other than wishing him the most cursed of unions, the matter does not concern me.”

“It should, because he will be sending you to escort her and her company back here,” he responded. “That is his plan at least. He will most likely announce it to you later today. Will you go?”

Another stupid task the King has thought to burden him with. The last time he’d sent him on a meaningless errand, Francis had returned home to find his family dead, killed by bandits, while the King was too busy planning a royal ball. “If he orders me, I can’t refuse. And where is it that I am meant to go?”

“Germany, I think. The Lady hails from Denmark but she resides in Brunswick. Her family has ties to various noble houses in both countries.”

Francis considered this for a moment. “She is not a princess though, isn’t that strange?”

“You believe he would marry for love?” David smirked.

“By the blood of Christ, no! Not unless he could marry himself.”

The two joined in laughter. Francis briefly wondered when it had become so easy to laugh along with David. Their partnership left little space for bonding, yet, apparently, they had bonded. Over their shared hatred for the Crown maybe. He didn’t know what else could have caused it. Their laughter smothered upon remembering they mustn’t get caught together, Francis asked David what else he knew about the King’s betrothed.

“Very little and nothing significant,” he said. “Remember, she may not be a princess but she will soon be Queen. It wouldn’t hurt to gain her favor. You must try to be refined and courteous.”

 _I have no need of her favor_ , Francis thought, but his raised eyebrows gave away his surprise at the jester’s words. “Am I not already?”

“You are standing in the hound kennels, dripping wet, invoking the Lord’s name in vain,” David said in response and made a hasty exit, the bells of his marotte jingling cheerfully as he hopped away.

***

In the afternoon, while the knights accompanied their King in inspecting the estate, Francis stayed at the back of the group, letting his horse walk at a leisurely pace. He was feeling anxious; he would have preferred to go on a hunt but those were becoming rarer these days, because William saved hunting for his more prestigious guests. As the inspection went on, Francis contemplated oaths. More specifically, oath-breaking. He had tried to steer William in the right direction at first, but there was only so much he could do. Would the old King think his promise was fulfilled simply by trying to do what was asked of him, even if he had failed? Would the effort count for something?

“Cavaliere, a word with you,” William called to him after they had dismounted, a broad smile on his face. “Come, old friend. I have need of your counsel.”   

Francis followed him past the stables to the bailey without a word, his body tensing when the King placed an arm around his shoulders. David might tease him for his lack of refinement, but managing to keep calm and not rip that arm off its socket seemed quite refined to him.    

“You must have heard the good news,” William beamed, despite the cold, calculating look in his eyes.

“No, my Lord.” Francis bit the inside of his cheek. He had cursed enough for one day, he shouldn’t make a habit of it.

“I thought for certain you would have,” he shrugged. “I am to be married!”

“Then there’s no need for me to counsel you. It seems the decision has been made. I wish you happiness, my Lord.”

Francis turned to leave, but William squeezed his shoulder, using more force than was needed. “Counsel and assistance, Francis. You have pledged both to me, have you not? Here is what I require of you. You must travel to the Lady’s residence and escort her safely back. I trust none to undertake the task but you.”

“What sort of Lady is this that has no one to escort her?” Francis folded his arms on his chest.

“She has her own guard, but I want you there as well. Not solely to protect her, though it is the main purpose of your journey. I also want you to send back word, tell me if she looks as fair as her portrait.” He then showed Francis the portrait as though he was sharing with him a great secret. Whether the artist had captured her likeness couldn’t be verified at the moment; the image was pleasing to the eye however. “The matchmakers have assured me the painter’s hand is true but-”

“You trust none but me,” Francis huffed, feeling even more agitated than before.

“Precisely,” he responded with delight.

“I must abide by my King’s wishes,” Francis said, more as a reminder to himself than anything else, and nodded politely. One good thing would come of this at least- he wouldn’t have to look at William for nearly a month. More than that, if he was lucky.

“My dear friend, I can always count on you,” William hugged him briefly. “I can imagine no one better than you to be standing at my side, on the day when I am wed to Lady Katherine Rosenvinge.”

The King’s face was glowing with joy, a perfect mimicry of human emotion, but what he described seemed like torture to Francis. He hoped Lady Katherine turned out to be a shrew, he hoped she’d make William’s life miserable. The chances of that happening were infinitesimal, since it was usually William who made people around him miserable. Yet Francis took that hope with him to evening prayer and -even though he didn’t believe in the power of prayer anymore- launched it towards the heavens, waiting for a sign that it had been heard.

***

As the small party of four drew closer to the Rosenvinge manor, Francis considered changing out of his hauberk but, in truth, he felt better wearing that instead of some silken garment. He was also disheartened that the journey was coming to an end, despite how sore his thighs were after all those long uninterrupted hours of horse riding. Sir Hugh, the other knight that had been charged with accompanying them, was riding beside him. His presence didn’t make sense –the King had said he only trusted Francis after all- but he was stoic and silent, qualities that Francis appreciated greatly. But his squire was now visibly uncomfortable, though he’d been trying to hide it, much more successfully than the messenger, who had been groaning and whining for most of their travel. When the manor came into view, all three sighed in relief.

A larger crowd of people than Francis had anticipated had gathered at the gate to greet them, with several young children among them. When a few of them ran towards the horses, laughing and cheering, he had to turn his head away; it reminded him of being welcomed home by his son and daughter. He didn’t mean to be rude to these children, it was just too much to bear and the fact they were now regarding him with wariness made it even more painful. As he handed the reigns of his horse to the groom, he looked to them and managed a small smile, which they shyly returned. But when he reached out his hand to touch one of their fair-haired heads, all of them ran away shrieking. Francis squeezed his eyes shut for a moment and took a deep breath.

In all the commotion, he hadn’t noticed the Earl Rosenvinge and his wife had stepped out to receive them, so he quickly dismissed his distress in order to proceed with the formalities. What he also hadn’t noticed, was a pair of blue eyes peering between the spectators’ heads, closely watching his every move. After he had delivered his King’s well wishes and assurances, Francis and his company waited for their host’s instructions.

“You will be shown to your chambers shortly,” the Earl informed them, his tone gentle and amiable. “But there is another introduction to be made first. If my daughter could be unearthed…” His eyes searched the crowd. “Ah, Katherine!”

Lady Katherine emerged from her hiding place, straightened up and went to her father, taking his hand as he presented her to their guests. Francis had memorized the pledge he had to offer upon meeting her, but he was suddenly rendered unable to speak. It wasn’t only that she was the most beautiful woman Francis had ever laid eyes on; which she was. It wasn’t that her bright blue eyes sparkled with wit; which they were. It was the way she stood in front of him, feet firmly planted in the ground, strong and proud. The artist had not captured her likeness, he had done her an injustice. Her braided hair shined gold under the afternoon sun and Francis, who didn’t believe in the supernatural, was certain there was a halo around her head. Suddenly overcome with devotion, he immediately dropped down on one knee.

“My Lady, I have been entrusted with the task of protecting you during our journey. I promise on my faith that no harm shall come to you on my watch, that I will lay down my life to keep you from danger and that you will always be safe with me,” he told her, an approximation of what he’d been instructed to say, but it didn’t matter because in contrast to the rehearsed text, this one at least came from the heart. Francis remained in place as she held his gaze for a long moment. Then, she turned to her father and asked him a question in German. He wasn’t fluent in German himself, in fact he could scarcely utter a full sentence in it, but from the exchange between father and daughter, he understood she didn’t speak a word of English.

Her father was translating for her and though he got the summary of what Francis had said, he felt it was falling short somehow. With the interpretation out of the way, Lady Katherine fixed her gaze on Francis once more, tilting her head slightly, as though she was appraising him; more than that, as though she was weighing his very soul. And finally, after what felt to him like ten thousand years, she smiled and nodded. If this was part of some Germanic custom, Francis didn’t know, but as soon as that moment passed, Lady Katherine was spirited away and his party was practically shoved to their respective accommodations.

The chamber assigned to Francis was small but warm; a sturdy bed made of oak wood with a rough but comfortable mattress, floor coverings to capture and preserve heat, as well as tapestries on the wall. And on the table by the window, for some reason lay a small mirror, possibly left behind by one of the ladies that have stayed there at some point in time. He might have looked in it, allowed himself a rare instance of harmless vanity, but decided that whatever Lady Katherine had seen when she gazed upon him, it wasn’t for him to know.

He caught only a glimpse or two of her during supper, while the minstrel sang morose tunes about love. It was more important to focus on preparations for the travel back, which would take longer to complete now that the company would grow in size. He had to ascertain he had predicted all possible spots where an ambush could be set, he had to be prepared for anything. They would have to stop and rest more frequently as well, perhaps for two days at a time; it could take a month. Another month without having to look upon William’s vexing face. Ah, what a splendid gift that was. Francis found that in this modest dining hall, spirits were higher and food tasted better. Perhaps he should never leave, never take Lady Katherine to England to be wed… Treason. That thought was treason. He had to wipe it from his mind. He resolved to think of her no more, not even look her way. For the time being. He would have to watch her on the road anyhow, that couldn’t be avoided.

The messenger was sent away the following morning, carrying a letter with a few simple words. Francis detested that he’d had to write it and seal it himself. “She is as fair as her portrait.” It felt like he was doing her a disservice. The King had commanded him and it didn’t matter if he enjoyed the charge or not, he was expected to carry it out. As he was making his way back towards the house, she passed by him, engaged in animated discussion with her maids. Their eyes met briefly and Francis froze into place, waiting for something, only he didn’t know what. She looked away first, continuing on her course, as her lilting laughter reverberated through the gardens. And, by God, it stayed with him even after it could no longer be heard. He was afraid it might stay with him for the rest of his days.

The night before they were to set out on their journey, Francis left the dining hall early, seeking the quiet and solitude the cold night had to offer. He checked on the horses one more time too, recognizing his behavior as slightly obsessive. But he couldn’t let anything go wrong. Just as he was about to exit the stables and return to his room, he heard footsteps, hurried but soft, and the swishing sound of fabric dragging on the ground. Nobody should be out at his hour. Apart from him, everybody else was still having supper. One hand at the grip of his sword, Francis carefully surveyed the periphery and caught sight of a lonely hooded figure slipping past the gates. The night was dark and he had no torch, but the moon was big enough to shed some light on him, so he decided to go after the shadow.

The challenge proved to be greater than he’d initially thought, as he followed the stranger through thickets and rough paths that he was unfamiliar with, but which his target traversed with the agility of a wildcat. A single groan escaped him once, upon hitting a rock with his foot and the figure stopped in its tracks. He would have been found out then, if not for the cover of night, which graciously assisted him in hiding as he crouched behind a large rock. The stranger carefully turned around to inspect the area behind and though the hood covered most of her face, the moonlight glimmered in her narrowed eyes, revealing her identity to Francis. His breath caught in his throat. Seeing nothing which could cause her concern, Lady Katherine picked up the pace, and as suspicious as he was of her behavior, Francis had no time to stop and think; he simply had to follow her. What was she thinking, venturing out on her own, at this time of night no less?

A little while later, she arrived at the door of a tiny peasant house and softly knocked on it. Francis picked a hiding spot, not as good as the rock before, but effective. He could see without being seen, even if he had to bend down in an uncomfortable position. The door opened and three young children rushed through it, crashing into Lady Katherine, who spread her arms as wide open as she could to embrace all of them at once. The children began to wail and she leaned over their heads, planting a kiss on the top of each one. Francis observed her, fascinated with her affection towards those creatures that other nobles would scorn or even abuse.

“Do not weep, my darlings,” she said to them in German, her voice cracking. “Though I must leave, I will make sure you are taken care of, I promise you.”

“You cannot leave,” the eldest child cried. “We don’t want you to go!”

“Believe me, I would rather not go either. But we must each do our duty, yes? Like your mother always said?”

The children started crying more loudly and an old woman stepped out of the house, wiping her eyes with a cloth. Lady Katherine let go of the children and reached for the woman’s hand, crushing it in hers. “Anna…” A sob jumped out of her throat. “Forgive me, I couldn’t do anything to stop this from happening.”

“I know, my dear child, I know,” she replied, bringing the cloth to her eyes again.

Lady Katherine’s hand disappeared into her cloak and reemerged holding a large leather pouch that made a jangling sound. She was giving them money; a generous amount of money, by the looks of it. Probably enough to get them through two winters at the very least.

“It is not the money we weep for, Karen,” the old woman said and put her hand on the Lady’s cheek.

Though his understanding of the German language was limited, Francis had no trouble comprehending the language of loss which had nothing to do with words. These people knew they would probably never see Lady Katherine –their Karen- again and they were heartbroken. The children, their little faces… He thought his heart might give out, both because of their sorrow and Lady Katherine’s kindness.  

“But you have to take it,” she insisted, pulling the wrinkled hand away from her face and kissing it, before placing the pouch in the old woman’s palm. “I will do what I can to help you, even from far away, Anna. I swear it!”

The woman nodded, new tears running down her face and the odd group fell into a hug. Wiping tears from her face, Lady Katherine kissed the children goodbye and tried very hard not to look back as she departed from the humble dwelling. Francis, now ashamed of having pursued her out here, collected himself from the ground awkwardly and tried to follow her more quietly than before. This was a private moment on which he had trespassed; remaining unseen was the respectful thing to do under the circumstances.

But where the Lady had effortlessly walked before, she was now struggling to find her footing. Francis thought the tears in her eyes might be a hindrance, as he could hear her sobbing from several steps behind. He wanted to put his hand on her shoulder and console her, he desperately wanted to help her feel less lonely. Instead, he held tighter on to the sword’s grip, feeling his fingers go numb from all the pressure. She was being torn from her home, the people she loved, to be married to a man who had no inkling what love was. But maybe she could teach him, maybe he’d be moved by her tenderness, maybe she would succeed where Francis had failed. There was little hope of that happening of course and Francis wasn’t at all willing to sacrifice her to that cause.

They walked like this for a while, Lady Katherine crying as she retraced her steps and Francis a good distance behind her, watching, guarding her, just as he swore he would. Then suddenly, his instinct alerted him to something, a sound to his front left, which was the exact moment Lady Katherine’s foot chose to slip on a rock, making her fall down. As Francis lurched forward to help her, to make sure she wasn’t hurt, somebody collided into him, the point of his sword missing his side by a thread.

Francis pulled out his sword, preparing for the next blow, keeping an eye on Lady Katherine at the same time. Then the assailant ran at him again, sword aiming for his belly. Francis jumped to the side and twisted, managing to strike the other man’s back. Seeing as the only visible piece of armor he had on was a nasal helm, his sword must have done a bit of damage. When the man turned to him with a roar, Francis recognized his companion.

“Sir Hugh?” he mumbled as he avoided another blow. “What is the meaning of this?”

But his mind was already racing, jumping to several conclusions. The King, that swine. He sent Sir Hugh along with Francis when there was no need of him being on this trip. To what purpose? Simply to assassinate him in a foreign land and be rid of the proof? Or to claim foul play and launch an attack simply for the pleasure of going to war? Either one, both, equally vile, equally despicable. And Sir Hugh had agreed to this.  

When Sir Hugh came close enough, Francis blocked his sword and wrenched it out of his hand, knocking him back with the pommel of his own. As he stumbled back, Francis swiftly kicked him in the stomach, propelling him backwards, where he tumbled and fell.

“You came out to fight in your linen? You are unworthy of your knighthood,” Francis snarled over him and plunged his sword directly under his former companion’s ribcage. Hugh would soon be dead, but Francis wasn’t satisfied. His hands balled into fists before his mind even registered the thought; he bent down on his knee and started pummeling into Sir Hugh’s face, over the helm, and when the blows started shifting it off his face, he continued hitting the space under it. By the time he was done, he could no longer feel his fingers.

As his rage subsided, Francis stood up slowly and turned to Lady Katherine’s direction. She had stood up too; the hood of her cloak had fallen back, revealing her beautiful face, her hair blowing in the soft evening wind. Both her hands were covering her mouth. Francis felt dreadful the more she refused to break eye contact, he felt unclean. She put her hands down and walked up the path to him, making him avert his gaze. He couldn’t tell what she was looking for, yet she was looking for something. Her voice, already cracking from her previous heartache, now came out in a trembling whisper.

“Your hands…” she said.

His hands, knuckles bloody and maimed, were no surprise to him. He was used to seeing them like this. He was a knight, a warrior. He never had the silk smooth skin of a noble. But she did. Her skin was soft and her touch was tender and though he didn’t deserve it, Francis realized he had been craving it since the moment he first saw her.

He also realized this was the first time he heard her speak English. “You speak my language?”

“I speak many languages,” she told him. “Come, sit down. Let me tend to your wounds.”

She led him further up the path, where the moon shone brighter and made him sit on the ground, carefully looking away from the corpse lying close by. She bent down, lifted the hem of her skirt and reached for her underdress, ripping a piece of fabric off it without a second thought.

“My Lady, please. There’s no need to ruin your garments,” Francis mumbled.

“There’s no need to let this get infected,” Lady Katherine said, looking him straight in the eyes. “If I am to trust you with my life, you should be able to trust me with your hands.”

“As you wish,” he replied quietly.

When she had dressed the wounds to her satisfaction, she looked up at him quizzically. “This man was your friend. But he came after you?”

“I am not well liked in the Court, my Lady.”

“Are you respected though? Or feared?” she persisted.

“Both, I think. The second a little more than the first perhaps,” he admitted reluctantly.

Lady Katherine nodded. “Being despised is worse, in my opinion. I do not think you could be despised.” Then she got up, taking a few steps away. “Were you following me?”

There was the shame again, the feeling that he stole something from her. He had done so unwittingly, he couldn’t help it, but he could help not lying to her face. “I was, my Lady.”

“Then you saw. Will you keep my secret or do you intend to reveal it?”

“Why should be kindness kept a secret?” he asked, even though he knew the answer already.

She smiled to him and her smile was full of sorrow. “What a world it would be, if we were all allowed to love regardless of our station in life. I love those children as though they were my own. Their mother was a dear friend of mine. Yet, to be seen with her or her progeny would be an insult to my house. I do not like the ways of our society, but I must navigate it as best as I can.”

His heart was cracking in his chest.

“Will you keep my secret?” she asked again.

“I will always do your bidding,” he replied in earnest. “I have sworn myself to you, my Lady, and if all other oaths must be broken, this is the one that I will keep. I am yours.”

Her smile became brighter at his words and she approached him, placing a tender hand on his cheek. “Thank you. I hope to never make you regret your pledge to me.”

They walked back to the manor in silence, together, side by side, like old friends did sometimes, when all that truly mattered had been said and the quiet moments became more meaningful.

In the morning, Sir Hugh’s absence was noted with concern, but the quick excuse Francis had concocted about him riding ahead seemed to make all worries go away. Sir Hugh’s body would later be found down a cliff, where his unruly horse must have thrown him of its back. Francis had already made his peace with that lie.

One of the maids noticed his bandaged knuckles and in broken English asked him how he hurt himself. Francis lied again, saying he had taken a fall during the night. All of the servants erupted in laughter at this, commenting in German about the knight who can’t find his way in the dark. Lady Katherine’s usually sweet voice rose over their jeers.

“Show some respect. This is my Knight. You do not mock him,” she said, muting them instantly and Francis felt his chest swell with pride.

What a Queen she would make.    


	2. Past cure am I

Francis couldn’t have possibly said anything about the frequent stops Lady Katherine kept requesting. Being highborn meant she wasn’t used to the harsh conditions of such a long journey, so he’d found her behavior easy to excuse, at first. But after the sixth stop within the span of four days, he started growing frustrated. The fact that she looked lively and fresh, instead of tired or distressed, wasn’t helping either. He couldn’t help cursing under his breath when she asked to stop again a seventh and eighth time. Perhaps he had misjudged her, blinded by her beauty. Perhaps she was as spoiled and petulant as most of the nobles he had met. Or maybe, she was trying to delay on purpose. He couldn’t blame her for that; he would have done the same, were he in her place.

Then, a little while before the Lady sheepishly inquired if they could rest yet again, he had caught her looking towards the servants traveling on foot, her lips forming a straight line after each glance. And there had been several glances. If anybody else noticed, they didn’t mention it, not even in whispered comments. Maybe they were simply used to her trying to conceal her concern about their well-being. To put everyone out of their misery, Francis suggested that they made camp nearby for the night.

Thankfully, there was a small clearing in the wood up ahead. A murmur of disappointment spread through the travelers when Francis announced that it was only going to be one night, no more, but they made no further complaints. Even though all forests tended to look the same, this landscape was foreign and it made him feel uneasy. The fact that one of the German soldiers informed him he’d take first watch while Francis rested that night didn’t help him unwind. And by nightfall, as he watched Lady Katherine getting ready to withdraw to her tent, his stomach was tied up in a knot.

“My Lady, I would ask a moment of your time, if I may,” he said, running after her and she stopped to look at him curiously.

Her maids gathered behind her, obviously unwilling to leave her alone with the knight and she tried to hide a smirk, but didn’t dismiss them as she focused her attention to him. “You may.”

The way she looked at him made him somewhat nervous. “Stopping so often will make the trip longer and your people much more tired.”

“Oh,” Lady Katherine said simply, her surprise at the discovery of her motivation making her cheeks flush. “I did not realize I was that transparent.”

“Only to those who pay attention,” Francis told her and watched her cheeks turn a deeper shade of red. “Our itinerary has been designed after thorough consideration. Trust me to see it through.”

“It is not a matter of trust, Sir Francis. I was thinking of the servants plodding along in the mud, while I sit comfortably in my carriage,” she said. “Surely you understand.”

“The fewer stops we make, the sooner we will reach the palace. Your people can rest properly there and they will thank you for it.”

“Of course, you are right,” she nodded. “We must proceed as planned.”

Francis had a bad habit of not being honest with himself. There were things he would deny repeatedly, with every fiber of his being, because admitting them might force him to take some sort of action. Which was what caused him to say “Yes, my Lady, we must”, thinking for a moment that he truly believed it. Her only response was a slow blink; then, she turned her back to him and disappeared inside her tent, her maids following her after casting angry looks in his direction. Despite his restlessness, Francis took his leave and decided to at least try to get some sleep.

He could have blamed his anxiety for the time it required for him to actually doze off and for the bad dreams that followed, but there was no point. This wasn’t unusual for him. His rest was often interrupted by images he wished he could wipe from his mind. Though he’d hoped he could avoid it on this journey, it seemed that fate had other plans. He rose up to his feet, forsaking sleep for the rest of the night, and decided to take a short walk before the time came to replace the soldier on duty. The poor man was exhausted, rubbing his eyes and shaking his head to keep awake as Francis walked by him.

Forests were never still and this one was no different; fallen leaves crunched under his boots, as well as the tiny feet of animals scurrying away as he approached, and owls hooted their warnings at the intruder. Francis stopped and sighed. He didn’t know what he expected to feel out here. Some sort of serenity perhaps but it was nowhere to be found. He sat down on a wide tree stump and looked up at the moon. It seemed to have sat much closer to the Earth; so close, in fact, that he almost believed he could touch it with his finger. How strange it was that untouchable things sometimes appeared to be within reach.

He must have been there only for a few minutes, when he heard a larger animal than the ones before, slowly dragging its feet through the fallen foliage. He focused his hearing to assess if he was in any danger, but it became clear very soon that the only dangerous thing was the habit a certain Lady had of sneaking out at night. When she came into view, Francis noticed how the moonlight made her pale skin glow, as though she was a spirit wandering around the woods.  

“You should not be here,” he said in a soft stone, trying not to startle her.

“Sir Francis? I thought you’d be asleep.” She took a few steps closer.

“How did you get past your guard?”

“He was sleeping. He wouldn’t have allowed me to pass, if he were awake. So I did not wake him.”

“I shall have to reprimand him,” Francis tried to jest.

“Oh, please, don’t! He must be so tired and I knew I shouldn’t leave the camp. It’s my fault!”

Her voice was trembling and, upon further inspection, so were her hands. Francis stood up and pulled her by the arm, giving up his seat on the stump so she’d be more comfortable. There was plenty of room for the both of them, but he could never be so vulgar as to offer her a seat next to him. Being alone there with her was bad enough.

“Are you unwell?”

“I… I dreamt of my mother,” she divulged. “I could not sleep after that.”

He felt the absurd need to stroke her hair. Perhaps she felt the need to have her hair stroked at the same time, because her head leaned slightly towards him, but neither one of them could or should act on such impulses.

“I saw her calling out to me and I wanted to answer, only I had no voice,” she told him. “Then she reached out her hands and I tried to hold them, but she kept moving further and further away from me, until I could no longer see her. And I cried a soundless cry and I couldn’t stop crying.” She let out a sigh and some of the tension left with it. “But it was only a dream.”

“Dreams are powerful demons,” Francis said, “I know.”

“Was it a nightmare that has kept you awake too?”

He could have said no and dismissed the question altogether, but he had the feeling that the blue eyes looking up at him could tell a lie from the truth all too easily. “Almost every night,” he admitted.

“What do you dream about?”

Again, he could have avoided answering and, again, he chose not to. “My children, dead in my arms and though I try to bring them back to life, I only feel their blood soaking my clothes. Then I turn to my wife to ask for her forgiveness, but she too is long gone and I have no one who can forgive my worthlessness,” he said, his breath coming out in short gasps. There was some relief in dragging the nightmare out into the light, even if it wasn’t the light of day.

“And is it only a dream, Sir Francis?” she asked, having already deduced the answer by his anguish, her long slim fingers twitching against her lower lip.

His mouth opened and nothing came out, so it closed again; there was nothing, no words, no meaning, no point in anything. Until Lady Katherine started crying, face hidden behind her palms.

“I did not know of your burden,” she muttered as she tried to stop her tears, “or I never would have troubled you with my foolishness.”

Making any lady cry was unacceptable. Making Lady Katherine cry was little short of appalling. Francis squatted down in front of her. “My pain does not make yours lesser, my Lady. You should not weep for me. I am undeserving of such an honor.”

In a moment of madness, Lady Katherine’s hands wrapped around his wrists. She was probably aiming for the gesture to be soothing, but Francis felt her fingertips scorch his skin and he inhaled sharply through his nose, barely managing not to gasp. She glanced down at their hands. “I have not known you for long, but I know when my tears are warranted. My heart aches for you. That you should bear such a loss, that you should be seeking a pardon that will never come,” she said, slowly uncoiling her fingers. “That you should be seeking forgiveness at all.”

 _How can I deliver this creature into William’s hands?_ It had been a long time since Francis could find any kind of softness in this wretched world. The more tenderness she offered him, the more he hungered for it and he didn’t need this kind of hunger in his life. “Do not weep for me,” he repeated because he didn’t know what else to say, the words struggling to find their way out of his throat.

She took his rough hand in hers and gently pressed his knuckles to her cheek. “Somebody has to,” she whispered.

As her breath warmed his fingers, every hair in his body stood on end, skin prickling. She made him fearful and hopeful at the same time. She shouldn’t be touching him, he shouldn’t be allowing it, but there was no force in the universe that could make him pull his hand away. “My Lady,” he drawled, his voice raspy and soft, “you mustn’t…” Lady Katherine’s shimmering eyes fell on his face and seeing his terrified expression, she reluctantly released her hold and folded her hands on her lap. “I should take you back to camp,” he managed to say after a while.

“No need,” she told him. “I will find my own way back, Sir Francis. Thank you.” Then she stood up, looking as proud as the time he first saw her, and gave him a small smile. “I can tell that you fear me, but I don’t understand why. I would never do anything to harm you. You are sworn to me and…” Her eyes ensnared his. “And though I cannot be sworn to you, we are bound together. At least until this journey ends.” Lady Katherine sighed and turned away.

Had he not been in such a state of shock, he would have gone after her, but he was unable to move while he watched her gracefully step over roots and weave through tree trunks, like this was her realm and nothing in it could touch her. With the moon looming above, Francis let out the breath he’d been holding and tried to steady his hands, before going to stand watch over the camp.

There wasn’t a single sound coming from Lady Katherine’s tent. He hoped that meant she had fallen asleep, dreaming peacefully; not imagining unimaginable things, like he was doing. His hands- in hers, then cupping her face, sliding down her neck, around her shoulders, touching, touching her- goodness, how he wanted to touch her, lay his palm over her heart and feel it beating, the cadence of her pulse bringing his own heart out of hell, back to life, like he had the right to wish for it, like he could ever hope to taste heaven on her lips- oh, Lord…

Francis thought about praying, begging to be spared from this ordeal, but when had God ever listened to him?

***

Katherine had a good enough knowledge of horses to sense that hers was becoming restive, either because the pace was too slow for his liking or because he’d sensed her agitation. She had spent a long while staring at the rider at the head of their group; more accurately, his back and the grey cloak hanging on it. His broad shoulders were normally pleasing to behold, but she would very much like to have a clear view of his face. She spurred her horse to a trot, so she could catch up with him, noticing that he barely turned his head to her direction as she came closer. Their horses neighed in acknowledgement of each other’s presence and cantered side by side.

“Your mare seems quite friendly,” she told Francis, who let out a dry chuckle, but didn’t pull his eyes from the road.

“Appearances can be deceiving,” he said. “She’s a good Courser, but God help the imbecile who tries to ride her if she’s not in the mood.”

“No one should expect a creature to be mounted against its will,” she replied. The knight made no comment. “She lets you ride her without complaint though.”

The corner of his lip curled up as he reached a hand to pat the horse’s neck. “We’ve had time to become well-acquainted. She knows she can trust me. And I could never pick another horse, no matter the task I have to accomplish. Even though she would be better suited to hunting or battle. I think I’ll keep her safe by my side.” The mare nickered softly and flexed her ears like she was listening to their conversation. “I’m glad you approve,” he grinned.

“Are there many knights who would refuse to go to war so they could keep their horses safe?” Katherine watched his back stiffen as a response to her question.

“I would rather not see any more battlefields, my Lady. I would be more than satisfied to simply be part of your personal guard for the rest of my days,” he replied, his voice warm though he still wouldn’t look at her. “But I could not refuse going to war. I must go wherever the King orders me to go.”

A lump of emotion swelled in her throat. This knight – _this man_ \- was unlike any she had met before. He could be brutal, but he wasn’t a brute. He could lie, but he wasn’t deceitful. He could have at least kissed her under the stars, but he hadn’t. “What is he like, your King?” she asked nonchalantly, thinking that perhaps the affection in his tone every time he spoke to her was merely a figment of her imagination.

He flashed a wild look at her, his mouth hanging open, before his features relaxed into his usual somber expression. “My King is my King,” he said, his voice low as he fixed her with a serious stare.

Everybody else had told her that King William was a good man, a great man even. But that was what matchmakers were supposed to say, wasn’t it? Your betrothed is kind and virtuous and handsome. Her knight’s few words were the only truth she could hope for. She nodded slowly. “Thank you, Sir Francis, for speaking the truth even without speaking it.”

“Your gratitude shames me,” he grumbled and turned his attention to the road ahead.

“Well, then your shame saddens me,” Katherine retorted. “And I’m certain my sadness troubles you and your trouble stings me, and so on and so forth. Let us agree to end this vicious cycle here and be merry instead.”

His jaw almost touched his chest in an attempt to conceal an amused smile. “You are very quick to forgive me.”

“I would be a fool to hold a grudge against my only friend,” she sighed.

Francis glanced behind to make sure no one was within hearing distance. The guards looked at him, ready to lunge forward at his word, but he waved his hand to dispel their concern and turned to Katherine. “You have other friends, far though they may be,” he said.

“You mean Anna and the children?” He nodded. “I don’t think I will ever see them again. The little ones will soon forget me. Perhaps it’s for the best.”

“I don’t believe you could be forgotten, my Lady.”

Katherine saw him flinch as soon as the words had left his mouth. Maybe she hadn’t imagined his affection after all.

“The old woman, Anna,” he said immediately, so that her attention might be diverted to something else. “She called you ‘Karen’, did she not?”

“Ah, yes,” she smiled softly at the memory and lowered her voice. “A shortened version of my name. Haven’t you heard it before?”

“No, never. I thought it was a term of endearment.”

“In a way, it is. So you should be careful not to use it in front of others,” she said, giving him a timid smile.

“My Lady, I would never…”

“As I will be careful not to call you ‘Frank’ in front of others,” she interrupted.

“Is that the shortened version of my name?” he asked, eyes sparkling with curiosity.

Katherine nodded, squeezing the horse’s reins in her hands until she could feel them turning blue. “An affectionate term, Sir.” She could say no more when his eyes bore into hers, puzzlement turning to melancholy. She turned her horse around to rejoin her maids, her heart invigorated by her audacity. It would be unwise to take a peek over her shoulder to see if Frank was looking at her, and quite unnecessary too; she could feel his eyes on her back the entire time.

***

Even though the hunting arrangements he had been used to were unavailable during this trip, Francis had enjoyed the process all the same. Sitting across the two guards he had chosen as his companions for the hunt, plucking arrows from the hart they’d managed to kill and transport back to the camp, he felt gratified and cheerful. The two men were praising his skills and he returned the compliment without thinking too much about it. They had made a good team and Francis thought they might be persuaded to stay with their Lady after her wedding, instead of returning to the Earl. With a little more training, they could become fine soldiers and he could have actual friends among his bannermen. He pulled one last arrow from the hart’s flesh and wiped the blood off it, before putting it back in his quiver, leaving the two guards to deal with the field dressing and meat care.

He walked back to the center of the camp with a smile on his face, looking for Lady Katherine so that he could inform her of the feast they would be having; she’d be very pleased to know her people would go to sleep with overfull bellies that night. But the more he looked for her, the more his smile faded. She was nowhere to be seen. A few of her maids were gathered at the entrance of her tent, gossiping and giggling. Francis approached them anxiously.

“Where is your Lady?”

“She has gone to the creek to bathe,” a young woman told him without a single note of concern in her voice.       

“Alone?” Francis asked and turned to look at the group of guards resting nearby, counting them, finding that none was missing and coming to the conclusion that Lady Katherine’s antics would surely be the death of him.

“No, Lyse is with her,” the woman scoffed. “We would never let her go alone.”

Francis span around and started running towards the creek they had passed earlier, when they were deciding where to make camp. He remembered it being long and winding and he hoped Lady Katherine was careful enough not to get too far. Just as he reached the spot where he’d left his mates, bending down to grab his bow, his eyes caught a flash of movement to his left; he looked up to see Lyse rushing to them, arms flailing in what was apparently a distress signal and his heart sank.

“Sir Knight,” she squealed as she collided with him. “A ruffian, a thief has my Lady! I ran as fast as I could to get help!”

He might have snapped at her for running at all, he certainly felt like it, but she was shaking so much from shock, that he couldn’t bring himself to upset her further. The fabric of her blouse was torn, just below the shoulder, revealing a bleeding gash on her arm. “One man?” he asked, picking up an arrow while she nodded frantically. “Weapons?”

“I only saw a dagger,” she sobbed.

He patted her uninjured arm once. “You did good, Lyse. Get your wound looked after,” he said and ran off in the direction she’d come from.

Luckily, the location the Lady had picked for her bath wasn’t as far as he had feared and he made it just in time, even though he had stumbled many times and almost fallen more than once. He heard the sound of water and his eyes darted across the bank of the creek, finding two crouched figures, several feet apart from each other. The thief had one arm extended, pointing his dagger at Lady Katherine while his free hand searched the clothes that were on the ground next to him for anything valuable. At first, Francis thought Lady Katherine had huddled down in order to hide her nakedness, but he could see her palm grazing the ground behind her feet, feeling around for a rock, her eyes wide on the man in front of her. Even if she could find a rock large enough to cause any damage, Francis knew she was too upset to hit her mark. He would have to act quickly; the thief was beginning to lose interest in her fine garments and gaining interest in her fine skin.

In a few long strides, Francis found a spot from where he could aim more clearly and placed his arrow on the bow, positioning his fingers on its string. As the thief stood up and Lady Katherine’s hand abruptly quit its search, he had to push down all his worry and force his shoulders to relax as he pulled back the bowstring until it was touching his nose. He exhaled slowly, thinking of the promise he’d made her. You will always be safe with me, he had told her. No harm will come to you.

“Step away from the lady!” he yelled and the man’s head instantly snapped towards the sound. Francis relaxed his grip on the string, his fingers slipping backwards as he let the arrow fly and find its target, going straight through the man’s eye. It was quick and clean, maybe even painless. Before the body even hit the ground, Francis was rushing to Lady Katherine’s side, tearing the cloak off his shoulders to wrap it around her.

Her eyes had gone even wider, horrified at the gruesome sight before her. Francis held the cloak in front of her, but it was as though he had suddenly become invisible. “Look at me, Lady Katherine,” he coaxed. The shock was proving to be too much for her; she was still staring at the dead man as Francis draped his cloak on her shoulders. “Karen,” he said again, “look at me.” Finally, she caught his gaze and he held it, watching her gradually come out of her stunned trance.

“Frank,” she breathed, as he brought her hand up to hold the fabric slipping from her body.

“I’m here, you’re safe,” he said, helping her stand up and leading her away from that place.

They didn’t make it very far before her knees buckled and though he was reluctant to stay in the woods for another moment, he couldn’t just drag her for the rest of the way. After slumping down to the forest floor, she began shaking and he started rubbing up and down her arms, more to remind her than she wasn’t alone than anything else. Her chest heaved as she fought for breath.

“I thought I was going to die,” Karen mumbled and brought one hand to his shoulder. “If you hadn’t been here…”

Frank didn’t want to think of what would have happened in that case. His heart constricted in his chest at the thought of losing her. And fear sometimes made people bold; bolder than they were allowed to be. “I will always come for you but…” He paused and placed an arm around her shoulders, gently touching his forehead to hers as she sighed, leaning in, not shying away from him. “Karen, please…”

She pulled back and even though she was still visibly shaking, she kept her eyes steady in his. “I will never stray so far from you again, Frank.”

There was so much he would have liked to tell her then, how happy he was that there wasn’t a scratch on her, how he’d never been so glad to hear somebody speak his name, how he’d like to carry her off and disappear some place where William would never find them- but the sound of footsteps and concerned voices forced him to rise up and draw back from her.

A couple of soldiers from their group emerged from the vegetation, carefully averting their eyes from the half-naked figure of their Lady, as the maid Frank had spoken to before came running behind them, holding a heavy velvet cape that she quickly placed over Karen’s shoulders, over his simple grey cloak. The woman helped her to her feet and they made their way back to camp, escorted by one of the soldiers. Frank told the remaining troop what had happened and sent them to inspect the body, as well as to fetch Karen’s clothing from the creek bank.

If they hadn’t been interrupted, would he have really told her what was going through his mind? Would he have asked her to run away with him, as though there would be no consequences to their actions? And did he have any reason to believe that was what she wanted? Abandon the chance of being Queen for his sake, like he had anything substantial to offer her. The concept was laughable. He would be laughing at himself, if he had any reason left in him.


	3. In spite of darkness

Night didn’t so much fall as smashed into them, the strain of a long day making most people slow and listless, while the rest talked loudly, laughing around the small fires scattered across the camp.  Frank warmed his hands at one of them, casting anxious looks towards Karen’s tent. He could see her shadow moving leisurely behind the heavy linen. Maybe she wasn’t planning on coming out tonight and knowing that he couldn’t go to her made the stew in his stomach threaten to burst forth. Somebody gave him a cup of wine and he drained it straight away, feeling it travel through his insides faster than lightning; and still, he was frozen to the marrow, a sensation that he knew had very little to do with the temperature. He handed the empty cup to the person who had offered it to him, only to have it refilled and returned to him moments later and he looked up to find Lyse staring at him.

“How is your arm?” he asked, though there was a different question scratching at his tongue.

“Better, Sir Knight,” the woman told him.

“And your Lady?” he hastened to add.

“Malheureux…” Y _ou unfortunate man_. She shook her head briefly. “Much calmer. She will be joining us for supper soon.” Deciding not to address her comment about him, Frank suppressed a sigh of relief and nodded with the most relaxed attitude he could summon. Lyse shoved the cup into his face. “Drink. If not for warmth, then for oblivion.”

He mumbled his thanks and focused all his attention to the ruby liquid swirling inside the cup, as the enchanting sound of a gemshorn began rising over the chatter of the servants. All conversations died down and a young woman’s voice joined the melody, singing in German. From what Frank could understand, the first verse spoke of three Counts, which made him immediately lose interest in the words; he opted for concentrating on the music instead. It helped him forget himself, for a while.

“You are not fond of our songs,” said Karen, taking a seat beside him.

“No, I…” he stammered, the cup almost slipping from his hands as he was startled by her sudden appearance. She did look much calmer, her hands steady as she smoothed the wrinkles of her skirt, even though the deep blue of the velvet fabric seemed to intensify her pallor. But her cheeks glowed a healthy pink which he found extremely comforting. “I find it difficult to empathize with young Counts.”

“Ah, you should listen closely then. The young Count dies in the end.”

There was the faint outline of a smirk on her face as she looked through the flames and over to the singer, swaying gently to the music’s rhythm. How graceful she was, how stunning, Frank thought before straightening up, reminding himself that people were beginning to notice the way he looked at her. “Slain in glorious battle, no doubt,” he scoffed.

Full of mischief, her eyes twinkled. “Poisoned by a nun.” His shoulders shook as a quiet laugh rumbled through his chest; this kind of story was more to his liking. She noted his reaction with contentment.

A man stood up and started singing the male part of the song; the young woman laughed and the rest of the servants cheered him on. Soon, the song turned into a theatrical performance, the two protagonists falling into each other’s arms and then withdrawing in dramatic motions, accompanied by the uproarious reactions of their audience. “Why would a nun poison a Count?” Frank asked.

“She had loved him once but she was poor and though he loved her too, the Count was more interested in wealth than feelings,” she explained. “He offered her a ring, not in marriage, which she refused and went on to become a nun.” He frowned. “He did not deserve her. And that is why she saw fit to give him poisoned wine to drink, when he came looking for her again.”

“Good,” he nodded, a severe expression on his face, and Karen drew back slightly in surprise.

“You would kill a man for not knowing how to love?”

A specific man who didn’t know how to love came to mind and Frank contemplated his demise with gladness. “I have killed men for less,” he said in a low voice, meeting Karen’s eyes. Perhaps he was trying to remind her he wasn’t as gentle as she thought him to be, but if that was the case, he appeared to be failing. The corner of her mouth turned up and Frank had to curb the urge to kiss it.

“It is only a cautionary tale,” she told him, as the song came to a close, with the man rising up from the ground where he had dropped to emulate the Count’s death. The party, now in spirits much higher than before, clapped and asked for more, while the two performers took a bow. “To remind people what truly matters. What would you have done? Besides killing the man. Would you have taken the poor girl as your wife?”

“You forget, my Lady,” Frank replied, trying to keep his voice from betraying any emotion, “I am not a wealthy man myself. I am expected to love where there is no wealth.”

“I do forget.” She looked down at her hands, twisting a gold ring around her index finger. Her remark came out in an almost inaudible whisper, making Frank wonder whether he had imagined it. “It is more convenient to forget sometimes.” Another maid rose up from her seat and approached the gemshorn player, asking him to play a song whose mention drew melancholy sounds from the crowd, but no one protested her choice. Karen lifted her head and sighed when the music began again. “But knights aren’t allowed to wear rings,” she said while gazing into the fire. “So no Countess should rush to place her ring on your finger.”

“There are other reasons why a Countess shouldn’t do that,” he choked out. It was this new song that affected him so and nothing else, he tried to reason. The sorrow in the singer’s voice, the haunting sound of the instrument.

Her fierce, sincere gaze cut through him. “I cannot think of any.”

They stared at each other for a long moment before Frank lowered his eyes to the ground, bringing the cup to his lips and taking a large gulp of wine to wash away the knots caught in his throat. “This song, what is it about?” he asked to break the tension. “More exterminated nobility?”

“No, nobody dies in this, as far as we know.” She laughed softly, keeping her eyes on him as she spoke. “It’s about a woman reminding her lover of his feelings towards her. The days of summer bliss. How beautiful she appeared to him the first time he saw her.”

Frank simply nodded. He felt powerless for speech, too ensnared by her beauty and the unuttered promises hanging between them. The soulful lilt of the singer’s voice wove some kind of strange magic, swelling with longing as he squeezed the cup in his hands in an effort to ground himself in the real world, where the woman he loved was nothing but merchandise to be traded between men who didn’t spare a single thought on how she felt.

“You mustn’t look at other women, this you should pledge,” said Karen, wistfully.

“I would never…” he began to mutter, but quickly realized she was simply reciting part of the lyrics and stopped before embarrassing himself further. She perked up at his quiet declaration and gave him a smile that made the stars fade out. “Forgive me, my Lady. I think the wine has gone to my head.”

Karen leaned closer, her hands clasped together on her lap. “Dear heart, I must ask you…” she breathed the lowest whisper, never getting to finish her sentence, as Lyse came to stand over her, an empty bowl in her hands and an air of disquiet about her.

“Lady Katherine, it is time you ate something,” she declared, offering Karen her hand.

Karen looked from Frank to her maid and back again, hoping that she could come up with an excuse to stay exactly where she was, but nothing came to mind. The moment had passed, she thought to herself, taking the hand offered to her and standing up. So rigid and stiff was Frank’s body when she turned to bid him good night that she could have sworn he’d suddenly turned into stone; there was always so much strain in his shoulders. She’d been so close to telling him of things that should have made her blush and though he made admirable efforts to fend her off, she knew, she had to believe that he at least wanted to listen. Would he have called her Karen otherwise? “Goodnight, Sir Francis,” she said, avoiding his eyes. “Thank you for keeping me company.”

Frank bowed his head, his jaw clenched hard like he was preparing to take a blow to the face as he watched her walk away. In stark contrast to his earlier state, he now felt overheated, the flames of hell itself burning within his chest. He could only put up with a couple more songs before retreating to the far end of the camp. With his back leaning against a tree trunk, he closed his eyes and wondered how Karen’s sentence might have continued. ‘I must ask you to put an end to your delusions’ would have been the obvious, sensible assumption. ‘Dear heart’, she had said. My heart’s, my life’s queen, he’d wanted to retaliate. But he didn’t have the right.  

He dragged himself back to the center of the camp just before dawn, discovering the guard on duty was asleep, yet again. How naïve these people were didn’t cease to surprise him. At least their journey would be completed soon and he wouldn’t have to agonize over their well-being; he could focus only on Karen, the most difficult of them all to keep out of harm’s way. If she wasn’t the daughter of an Earl, there would be fewer reasons for concern. And more reasons to believe he might have a claim on her. No such luck though. He would just have to settle for having his heart torn in half between worry and misery.

A condition in which she took delight to see him apparently, as he caught her trying to slink past the sleeping guard. Her all too recent adventure in the woods had taught her nothing. He would have been upset with her, if he wasn’t somewhat proud of the wild spirit which compelled her to act this way. Regardless, he felt the need to sigh before clearing his throat loudly, causing her to stop in her tracks while the guard jolted awake. “Lady Katherine…” the man mumbled as he rose to his feet. “I was only…”

“Everybody is safe.” She put a calming hand on his shoulder while glancing over at Frank, who quirked an eyebrow at her and moved closer. “There is no cause for alarm.”

“Where are you going? Should I get one of the servants to accompany you?”

“Oh, no need. I was going to gather some flowers. There is a field of daisies close by. My Knight can take me,” she told him and looked once again to Frank, her gaze declaring a challenge that he knew he shouldn’t accept.

“Perhaps Sir Francis has other things to-”

“I will take her,” he interrupted and followed her lead.

After putting some distance between them and the camp, Frank began feeling angry at his foolishness. In spite of how many times he admonished himself to never be alone with her, he couldn’t stop from following her blindly, into danger, into certain doom, anywhere and everywhere. All he could do for the time being was to stay several steps behind her, avoid proximity as though standing close to her was nothing short of a death sentence. And all the while, Karen wouldn’t say a word, her head turning slightly to the side a few times being the only acknowledgement of his presence. “Is there really a field of flowers?” he asked eventually.

“You consider me a liar?” she laughed and pointed a finger to a thick row of trees up ahead. “It’s just beyond those trees. Did you think I was running away?”

“Yes.”

Karen stopped and turned around to look at him, examining his face while keeping hers blank and devoid of emotion. “How far would I make it on my own?”

“Not very far,” he admitted reluctantly, though the answer was evident.

“Precisely,” she nodded and resumed her course, speeding up when the field finally came into view.

The daisies were spread across the field evenly, almost like somebody had taken great care in their placement, forming a thick coat over the green grass. Karen seemed happy to be there, skipping slightly in her footsteps as she began running forward and plopping down to sit in the middle of the field, her fingers gently tracing white petals. When he caught up to her, she had a fond smile on her face and a tranquility he hadn’t witnessed before. A lot of effort must have gone into trying to tame this wild beast and it was all for naught; unless she was released into the wilderness, where she was unquestionably at peace. As Frank gazed at the gentle lines of her face, a cloud crossed her features, making the light in her eyes a little less bright.

“Do you think your King will be cruel to me?”

“No,” he hurried to reassure her, but he couldn’t be certain of that. While William hadn’t been known to treat women unkindly, most women tended to be submissive to his desires. But there was nothing submissive about Karen and though he admired her for it himself, he could imagine the King’s displeasure at her not bending to his will. “And I would never let him.” He could promise her this at least. And another thing, which he didn’t say out loud, but considered it a promise anyway- that he would pull out William’s spine if he ever dared treat her badly, King or no King.

“How long before we reach the palace?” she asked again.

“Another week or so.”

“A week.” Karen looked away. “It isn’t enough time.”

Of course she would want to enjoy whatever freedom she had before becoming someone’s wife, William’s wife especially. Frank sat down opposite her, clasping his hands over his knee. “How much time do you need?” He might be able to stall a bit, put another week between them and the dreaded return. He might be able to give her what she wanted, what they both wanted.

“A hundred years,” she told him, voice cracking, eyes still fixed on the daisies. “Can you give me a hundred years, Frank?” 

“I wish-” His breath caught. “I wish I could.”

“Won’t you even try?”

Her bottom lip started trembling and he wanted nothing more than to catch it between his teeth, keep it steady there; but that would ruin her. Going along with her wishes would only bring her dishonor and even though she appeared to be willing to have her good name thrown into the mire, how could he bring himself to become her accomplice? 

As a response to his stubborn silence, Karen let out a long sigh, picking a daisy from the ground, then meeting his eyes with tenderness, instead of the reproach he had expected. There was even a shy smile tugging at her lips as she leaned forward and tucked the flower behind his ear. “What a fool you are,” she chuckled softly, “to think that you can deny me what is mine.”

His reason granted him a moment of reprieve, just a brief moment before he’d be pulled back to his senses, and he let his hand grab hold of hers, bringing it to the hollow of his neck, where his pulse was beating a frantic rhythm. “Karen, I swore to keep you safe. This isn’t safe.”

“Are you bound to me only by your oath?” she questioned, all kindness still.

“You know the answer to that,” Frank said, unable to speak clearly as he felt his logic building up barriers again.

“I do know,” Karen nodded and pulled her hand out of his grasp. “But you still hope to deceive me.” Her fingers went up to her chest, brushing against the fabric of her surcote to feel for the small brooch resting there and remove it; it was rather simple and modest, adorned only with one blue gem in its middle- blue for purity, like the ribbon they would put on her hair on the day of her wedding. “I would give up all my golden rings for one made out of copper,” she told him and reached for the collar of his gambeson, sticking awkwardly from beneath the hauberk, and pinned the jewelry there with careful movements, patting it once, as though it was finally in its rightful place. “You can use this to close your cloak.” She stood up slowly and yanked a handful of flowers off the ground, taking a few steps towards the direction of the camp. “I do not envy your restraint. It hurts you more than it hurts me.”

Frank remained silent, full of sorrow, weary of life, as he watched her move away from him.

“Come,” Karen called out, without turning to look back. “We mustn’t tarry any longer.”  

***

As soon as the castle walls came into view, Frank’s heart sank low, into the deepest pit. His horse, sensing his anguish, kicked her hind leg nervously and he made a shushing sound to calm her down. Nobody would be coming to relieve him of his dark thoughts however.

For the week it took to arrive to this point, he had painstakingly avoided Karen or maybe she had avoided him- it didn’t matter, they’d avoided each other. Her eyes had followed him around, he could feel it even when he couldn’t see it, and he’d spent hours listening to the sounds coming from her carriage, as though he might hear his name being spoken. The fact remained that the further they’d been from William’s reach, the easier it had been for him to pretend he was doing the right thing, always preoccupied with duty and honor.

But as he watched the drawbridge being lowered, he had to turn his head back, hoping to find Karen looking at him, giving him some sort of signal to make a run for it. It was too late to give in to temptation now, with the castle archers’ watchful eyes trained on the party as they went through the portcullis and into the yard. King William and his attendants were standing at the entrance. Frank felt sick just by looking at him. Ignoring his King’s presence could be considered rude at best, but he dismounted quickly and rushed to open the carriage door, having gone raving mad with despair. He had led her straight into the lion’s mouth; there was no power in the world that could absolve him of this.

Karen took his hand and stepped off the carriage, her eyes studying his face with curiosity upon realizing how his hand was shaking. “Frank, what is the matter?” she uttered in a low tone that only he could hear.    

Without noticing, Frank had turned his back towards the King, trying to hide her from his snide stare. _Forgive me_ , he tried to say but ended up only mouthing the words, certain that she hadn’t understood what he meant as her fingers gently squeezed his. Or perhaps she had, which was worse in his mind. “Welcome home, Sir Francis,” William’s voice came from behind him and he whirled around to face the rotten bastard, his hand feeling strangely empty. “I trust you had a safe journey.”  

“As safe as could be expected, Your Grace,” Frank replied, his heart now filled with bitter hatred.

“I do not see Sir Hugh with you.”

“Has he not arrived yet?” He feigned puzzlement as best as he could. “He rode ahead. He was supposed to meet us here.”

When William’s cold eyes narrowed on his face, Frank became convinced of the King’s intentions to dispose of him. The only thing that surprised him was that he hadn’t tried it sooner. How disappointing it had to be for him that he’d never get a chance like this again. And even if he did, even if he managed to form the most perfect assassination plan, Frank would remain alive out of spite, just to deprive him of the satisfaction. The King’s gaze softened too quickly, the way only artificial reactions can, and he let out a vigorous laugh.

“Perhaps he stopped into town for a strong drink and a warm embrace, and got lost in both,” he quipped. “I shall reprimand him for his tardiness when he finds his way back. For now, would you be so kind as to step aside and let me look upon my betrothed?”

There wasn’t a single ounce of kindness in Frank’s heart at that moment, a fact that became clear since the King had to place a firm hand on his shoulder and push him to the side.

“Lady Katherine, at last we meet,” said William, giving her little time to bow to him before taking her hand and bringing it to his smiling lips, using his abundance of charm on her. This meeting made Frank fearful of many things, Karen falling for this farce being the most prominent one at the moment. “Allow me to lead you to the Great Hall and give you a proper welcome.”

Karen explored his face for any trace of sincerity. Finding none, she could do nothing but smile politely and thank William for his hospitality, casting a fleeting look at Frank as they passed by him on their way inside. _We could have fled_ , her eyes told him in the fraction of a second. _We could be long gone, far away from here_. _You did this_ , he added, thinking to himself as he gritted his teeth. _There is no one else to blame_.     

He was expected to follow the group, join in the festivities, but before he knew it, his feet had dragged him by the postern gate, towards the kennels. The hounds jumped at him, thrilled to see their old friend return, but he could hardly notice their excitement, lost as he was in his vivid imaginings of the multiple ways he could slaughter William and free Karen from her sentence. He went into the kennels and shut the door behind him, wondering if the sounds coming from his throat could still pass as human or if they could be mistaken for the dogs howling. He hoped it was the latter; he’d rather not be caught in this dreadful state, fondling the brooch on his collar with a loving hand.

The jester soon poked his head through the door. “I thought I might find you here,” he exclaimed in his usual warm manner. “I was in the bailey when you arrived but I didn’t want to approach you in front of everyone.”

“You should not approach me now either,” Frank warned, dropping to the ground.

As though he hadn’t heard a word, David continued. “The King must surely be pleased. Our future Queen is a rare beauty.”

“She is, she is,” he groaned, covering his face with his palms. “There is none fairer in the world. And she has heart too. By God’s passion, does she have heart.”

David looked at him curiously. “Are you… Are you well, Francis? Have you been injured?”

“No. And leave me be lest you find yourself injured. I am in no mood to endure your banter, David.”

“But I see it plainly,” he said, sitting down beside him and placing a friendly hand on his back. “Cupid’s arrow has pierced you, has it not? The gravest injury of all.”

Frank made no reply, bracing himself for the onslaught of tasteless gags his friend might produce at his expense. Normally, he would be able to withstand such interactions, even participate earnestly. Not today though. But David leaned against him, absolutely silent, his weight somehow becoming a source of support, instead of burden. Not much could be done to alleviate Frank’s pain and while this quiet companionship helped a lot more than he cared to admit, he felt his chest tightening dangerously around his heart.

“Did you see?” he choked out a sob. “Did you see him put his filthy hands on her? Any god would be offended by this hubris.”

“You poor fool,” the fool lamented. “You poor fool…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally got around to finishing another chapter. Let me know if you like it! I sincerely hope you do.


	4. For weal or woe I will not flee

During target practice, Frank had missed at least half of his marks and that could only be attributed to his mind wandering in Karen’s direction. She was constantly being paraded around, being introduced to nobles most of whom weren’t so noble, shown off like a hunting trophy. As she applied her good manners to all the necessary social conventions and smiled, even from a distance Frank could tell how unhappy she was. Though her gaze fell soft on him the few times they came across each other, fair lashes fluttering down as her cheeks flushed, he was assured that coming to this place was extinguishing the light in her eyes already, not four days since their arrival. He felt like he had put out her fire himself.

The preparations for the royal wedding would begin soon. William would send out an order for the finest Italian silk for their garments within the week, then the announcement would hang on the church’s door and afterwards… How long before she was tied to that horrible man till death them depart? Three Sundays, at least. The King wouldn’t offend the Church by hastening the process, surely. When the time came, Frank would have to stand and watch, hear them recite their vows, each word carving a new wound in his heart. That would likely be the truest test of his devotion to Karen- witnessing the event without flinching, going against his instinct to tear William apart with his hands and kiss her over the bloody remains. Suffering in silence. God, he used to be terribly good at that. Why was it so difficult now?

Hadn’t she already given him enough to make it through a lifetime of pain? Her tenderness, her tears, affection more than any man could wish for and that Frank, specifically, could ever hope to deserve; her brooch, the small gem glistening against his neck every time it caught the light; her slight fingers on his skin. And the ghost of a kiss that would never come to pass, his lips stinging with its absence. It should be enough. It should be.

Karen was considering taking a small risk, to see how freely she could speak to her maid in the presence of others. There were so many ‘others’ here, their sharp eyes on her. She couldn’t even draw a breath without them measuring the time it took her to exhale. Which only served to make exhalation more difficult. It seemed she was doing very little these days besides holding her breath. Especially in front of the King. He was kind to her of course, amiable and courteous, but the smiles he offered never reached his eyes and every time he touched her, she couldn’t fight the creeping malaise which crawled on her skin like a venomous spider.

And Frank- Frank had suddenly become unreachable, as though they were deliberately keeping him away from her. It couldn’t be his choice to stay away, she had to believe that. No matter how much he tried, he could never keep his distance from her. Not for too long anyway. All the polished voices surrounding her made her miss the hoarse warmth of his speech. So yes, if she ever wanted to hear him speak her name again, certain risks had to be taken.

She uttered her first bold remark in German when she was in the company of women who hoped to be the Queen’s ladies-in-waiting. “I don’t like him. The King,” she said to Lyse and the woman stared at her with fear. “His eyes are cold and the same, I think, is his heart.” The court ladies simply looked confused and asked her if there was something she needed. Karen put on her most reassuring smile and told them everything was fine, that she was delighted to be there, among such good friends. Her smile didn’t diminish as she turned to Lyse, the two of them exchanging a look of comprehension and –Karen hoped- agreement.

The next time she tried her luck was in the Great Hall, during supper. Frank had been there earlier. His lips had parted in a sigh when he caught her eye and he’d immediately turned around and left. “This place is dreadful,” said Karen flatly, while Lyse tried to keep a straight face this time. “Grim and desolate”. A few people turned to look at her but their faces showed no signs of awareness. And again, that evening, joined by the sound of the lute as the King danced and showed off for the Court. “How well he conceals his wickedness with charm. Perhaps I should learn from him,” Karen sighed and took a sip of her wine.

Out of nowhere, as though he’d just popped into existence, the jester’s face appeared next to hers, almost making her choke. “Fair Lady, learned Lady,” he said softly and shook his marotte, the bells ringing loudly in her ear, before lowering his voice to a whisper. “If you want to remain a living Lady, you should learn to keep your voice down, like the fool does.” He was all smiles, but his eyes betrayed alarm as they bore into hers. What an unexpected, unlikely friend he was; and how fortunate she, that he was there to warn her before she made a fatal mistake.

“Who?” she whispered, mimicking his low tone.

The jester looked sideways to a small, gruff man sitting at the other end of the hall. He wasn’t close enough to have heard her, but she would know to avoid him in the future. “Danish?” she asked hurriedly.

“Safe but quietly. Ever so quietly,” he nodded and turned to leave. Then, making sure his words would be nearly inaudible over the bells of the marotte, he added one more thing in a sing-song voice. “I wish to remain faithful, guard your honor, seek peace, obey, serve and honor you until death, peerless Lady.” And then he skipped away like there wasn’t a single worry on his mind, blond curls bouncing cheerfully around his face.

The words weren’t from the song that was being played for the King to dance to; they were simply lyrics from a song however. Besides it being a furtive declaration of alliance, she should think nothing of it. It shouldn’t remind her of pledges openly given on bended knee, or of unspoken ones that she hoped would be put into words, even when hope was lost. Was she indeed to marry and swear her heart to a man she could never love? The thought hadn’t troubled her so much before. Before Frank’s arrival at the manor.

How easily he had fallen to his knees in front of her, his dark eyes ablaze with honest devotion. It was that fire that drew her to him, prior to her realizing that he was always burning and would continue to do so, until there was nothing left of him but ashes. She had felt the flames licking at her skin for quite a while and though she had tried to ignore them, they were stoked by each breath, each beat of her heart, threatening to consume everything in their path. There was no point in trying to hide the ache in her tone and neither did she want to, as she gripped her maid’s forearm with more force than she’d meant. “My Knight,” Karen said in Danish, voice shaking. “Lyse, where is my Knight?”   

“Have you gone mad, my Lady?” the other woman huffed. “Think of him no longer or you will be ruined.”

“Am I not?” she sighed. “What is this, if not ruin?”

“Must I remind you that men, even knights, will say many things to make a woman feel for them, to rob her of her virtue?” Lyse chastised.

A laugh like acid came to her mouth. She had already given it some thought. The times they’d been alone together, his lips having failed to find their way to hers. He had said nothing and he had said everything. “I have no virtue, save for his love.”

“Think of your father then,” Lyse persisted. “Would you bring such dishonor to his name?”

“My father sold me,” she replied through gritted teeth. “He planned for me to bear somebody else’s name, therefore his is no longer my concern.” Dismissing Lyse’s shocked reaction, she continued with a more affectionate tone. “You wish this arduous existence for me? That I should forsake the only thing which could rid me of my pain?”

“Your heart is too tender, I have always said so,” she replied, shaking her head.

Despite her better judgement, Karen allowed herself a broad smile when she noticed Frank reenter the room. With a cup of wine in his hand and the jester at his heels, he made his way to one of the tables and sat down, carefully surveying the crowd before casting a warm glance at her. “You wouldn’t think that, if you could feel how savagely it beats inside my chest,” she told her maid and pulled her hand away, bringing it to her lap where it fiddled with the fabric of her skirt. “Oh, look at him!” she said, watching him through lowered eyes. “Is he not the most handsome man to ever walk this earth?”

Lyse snorted a laugh. “Not only have you lost your mind, but your sight as well. King William is far more handsome and refined than your beloved. In this hall alone, there are several appealing men whose countenance surpasses his. Shall I count them for you?”

Karen chanced another brave look in Frank’s direction, her breath catching when their eyes met briefly. In his austere dark outfit, he seemed to her more regal than the Rex himself. “No,” she whispered. “There is none but him.”

In the morning, she managed to slip by unnoticed after Mass, to explore the grounds on her own. She didn’t dare stray too far -this was a foreign land after all and she didn’t know how to successfully traverse it yet- but the short walk was refreshing. By the time she returned and sat down on a bench in the yard, with a lap full of flowers, she was feeling much better. The relaxed ambience of her surroundings meant that her absence hadn’t been noted or, if it had, that nobody cared so much about her to make a fuss. Her eyes scoured the open space in front of her, in hopes of catching a glimpse of Frank as he returned from training. People moved about in all directions, but he was nowhere to be seen.

It was as her heart started growing heavy that she saw a man dressed in simple clothing approach her with long strides. She only recognized him by the blond waves of his hair and his clear blue eyes; nothing else about him seemed at all jester-like, since he wasn’t in costume yet and the sound of the bells was, thankfully, lacking. In spite of his serious expression, her face lit up at his appearance.  

“Lady Katherine,” he bowed his head. “Though I have been told of your disregard for danger, I am still surprised to find you here alone.” He sat down on the other end of the bench, so close to the edge that remaining seated and not falling off it might have been a feat of magic. “Do you meander by yourself often?”

“Oh, yes! As often as I can,” Karen smiled. “And who has told you of my habits, dear friend?”

If he’d been surprised before, he must have been absolutely stunned now, his eyes widening at the intimate way she addressed him. He quickly recovered from shock, but still observed her curiously. Beautiful, yes, she was, breathtaking even, yet his friend had never been swayed by looks. Francis had said she had heart and David could see it for himself now, the glow of goodness coloring her cheeks. “I think not saying his name answers your question just as well.”

“So it does,” she nodded. “It is good to know he speaks of me.” _Thinks of me, misses me_.

His weary groan didn’t exactly bode well, but that didn’t mean it was a bad sign either.

“If what he does could be called speaking, then you might say a dog does speak as well,” David said and saw the smile instantly fade from her face. “He isn’t the most loquacious of men however, not without some wine loosening his tongue.”

Karen couldn’t help but laugh at his remark. Frank’s lips were rather tight indeed. “You came of your own accord. He didn’t send you to me.”

He puffed out a long exhale and chuckled nervously. “In a way, he did. It wouldn’t stop him from splitting me in twine with his sword, if he found out I have been talking to you though.” David shook his head. “You have no friends in this place. And he would rest easier knowing you have made a friend of me.”

Thinking of his timely intervention the night before, she beamed at him. “I would like that very much.”

David nodded and quickly stood up. “You must be careful, my Lady. There aren’t many people here you can trust. Remember not to speak so freely, not in public at least.”

“I will,” she assured him.

“Also, remember most people cannot suffer the fool. You must not look so glad to see me.”

“But I am awfully glad to see you, my friend,” she said quietly.

“Oh, hush,” David tried to pretend his face hadn’t just turned scarlet. “He loves you, therefore I love you. There is no need for flattery.”

Karen raised a palm to her burning cheek. _He loves you, therefore… He loves you_. The jester hadn’t realized what he had said, he hadn’t realized how much she needed to hear it. Perhaps Frank would tell her himself at some point. Hopefully sooner rather than later.

Fidgeting awkwardly, David opened his mouth, closed it again and then, resolved to simply say what he felt needed to be said. “As your friend, my Lady, I must beg you to consider one thing,” he sighed. “Honorable though he is, Sir Francis has enemies. Enemies that would rejoice at seeing his head separated from his neck. If they would wish him dead simply because he exists, what do you think would happen if his affiliation to you was discovered?”

Heads would roll, both his and hers. A chill ran down her spine. “Rest assured, I will be much more careful from now on.”

“I pray he is too. Whenever you are near, his eyes follow your every move. Somebody is bound to notice,” he said before taking his leave of her.

What a peculiar band of fools they had formed, Karen thought with a grin, her feelings resolute against the jester’s warning.    

***

After yet another, unnecessarily and ridiculously festive supper, saturated with music and dancing that everybody but him seemed to find pleasant, Frank had stepped outside, hungrily inhaling the freshness of the cold night breeze. He paced up and down in a frenzy, like a wild animal trying to break out of its confines. All the frustration which had been building up inside him, boiling and blistering underneath his skin, had finally reached its pinnacle when William grabbed Karen’s hand and dragged her into a dance she clearly didn’t want to join. But she’d danced anyway, because she had an obligation to obey the sovereign, even if all she wanted to do was sit in her chair and drink her wine and not have a two-faced bastard leering at her.

The simplest solution would be to just walk back inside and drive his sword through William’s gut. He certainly wanted to. Karen would be free to return home afterwards, while he would be decapitated or hanged as a traitor. Frank knew he shouldn’t entertain the notion for too long, lest it became a plan. Why shouldn’t it become a plan though, he wondered, fingers flexing over the place the hilt of his sword would be. He was half ready to go get it and dash into the Great Hall, when he heard footsteps padding softly on the stone floor, snapping his mind back to more reasonable thoughts. Such as hiding, because this could hardly be described as one of his most sociable moments. The alcove under the spiral staircase to his right made for a perfect hiding spot, drenched as it was in darkness. He pressed his back to the wall and waited.

Karen walked timidly out to the terrace and gazed at the moon as she exhaled slowly, before glancing over her shoulder to make sure nobody had followed her. She hated to think that these rare instances of freedom would only become scarcer as time went by. She had always known she’d inherited her mother’s indomitable spirit, but she could never have imagined how much ache it would cause, as she tried to force herself into a destiny others had chosen for her. She didn’t want to be a queen. All she wanted was the open fields and her true love by her side. As sadness and longing coiled in her stomach, tears began stinging her eyes, demanding to be released.

Upon hearing her cry, Frank felt her inescapable pull compelling him forward.  “My Lady,” he said and she startled at his voice. “Karen.” He heard her sigh, in relief this time, and his heart started racing. “Karen,” he said again. It almost sounded like a prayer.

She drew closer to him, her hands flying up to his face, hovering over his cheekbones before she forced them back down. “How happy I am to see you.”

The moonlight made the tears glisten on her skin, beckoning him to wipe them away- with his fingers, with his lips. The choice was irrelevant, it was the act that mattered, but he opted for the first and let his palms cup her face, as his thumbs caressed away the dampness of her cheeks. “Are these tears of joy?”

“No, but I am finished with them,” she replied and smiled to assure him of the truth of her statement. Her fingers curled around his wrist. “Your presence seems to have scared them away.”

As though her touch had hurt him, Frank retreated from her, watching her hand float in the air for a moment while her features contorted with sorrow. “My Lady, I have a favor to ask of you, if you would be so kind as to grant it,” he told her, feeling tension gathering at the base of his neck.

Her eyebrows knit together. “If it is within my power, I will grant it. You know I will.”

“The oath I swore to you binds me here, unless you bid me otherwise,” Frank said with a crack in his voice. “I do not ask that you release me from it, only that you send me away.”

She took a step back and glared at him, crossing her arms on her chest. “And why would I do that?”

“You are too kind to let me suffer like this.” He had to be more cautious; a sob almost escaped from his throat as his wandering hands grabbed hold of her arms.

“Sir Francis, if you wish to leave, you will have to break your vow, because I refuse to set you free.” Her chin rose in determination.

“Karen, please…”

“Are you not too kind to let me suffer alone? If suffer we must, then why should we not do it together?”

Frank drew his head back in surprise, trying to ignore the burning sensation in his palms as they slithered up to her shoulders little by little. “I never wished for your suffering.”

“Then do not condemn me to it,” she whispered her anger and her tone softened with her next words. “My heart dear, with you gone, what will I have left? Nothing. Less than nothing. Since you swore to protect me, shouldn’t your protection extend to this too? Will the same hand that would yield a sword for me, rise to strike me? Why would you choose agony, when salvation is within your grasp?”

His palm, now having found its way to the back of her neck, lingered there, fingers spread out on her warm skin, squeezing gently. “Why must you say such things?” A hopeful grin touched his lips. All his restraint was breaking apart, blown away with the light wind stirring a few loose strands of her hair.

“I say them because you cannot. Does that make me stronger than you, I wonder?” she smiled back.

“It must, for I feel too weak to oppose you.”

“Surrender then and I will treat you kindly.” Karen placed a soft hand on his chest to feel the pounding heart beneath. “Deny me a second time and it will be the last,” she warned, assured that he wouldn’t by the way he was trembling under her touch.

Searching her eyes for any trace of uncertainty, Frank dared his own foolish reluctance to try and tear him away from her, but her gaze held him still, as good as paralyzed. The only move he could muster was bringing an arm around her waist, enchanted with the small gasp that flew through her parted lips as his face leaned closer to hers. There was the ghost of a kiss again, gliding between them, begging to be brought to life. His lips prickled with a sudden rush of blood. Salvation. She was offering it gladly. And he wanted it. Then why shouldn’t he take it?

“Frank…” she whispered and the sound sizzled through him.

“My heart’s queen,” he whispered back, his voice strangled with yearning. “I will never deny you again.”

“I count two fools here and none of them is me,” David’s voice slipped in, shattering the precious moment and making them pull apart hastily. “I don’t need to look at the moon to know it is full, for its phase is perfectly portrayed in your utter lack of sanity!”

“David,” Frank snarled. “What are you doing here?”

“I am saving you from yourselves. Lady Katherine, you have to go back inside now,” he said and stood aside to make way for her.

Karen lowered her eyes and nodded, allowing her fingers to brush Frank’s thigh as she moved past him. His hand chased after hers, but caught only air as she quickly withdrew, pausing for a short while to look at him. “You will not leave.” It was a command, yet it begged for an answer.

“I will not leave you,” he told her.

Satisfied, she turned her back to them and left.

“Caution has been cast to the winds I see,” David pressed his lips together. “The King would have your head for this.”

“Yes, he would like that, wouldn’t he? Perhaps I should let him take it. Then all my troubles would end,” Frank laughed in response.

“I would wager Lady Katherine prefers that your head remains on your shoulders.” 

“Karen…” He said her name under his breath. “I think she would prefer I had a smarter head on my shoulders,” he told David. The tone of amusement in his voice seemed inappropriate somehow, but he couldn’t bring himself to not feel light and giddy at this particular time.

“No, she seems too reasonable to hold out hope for that,” David mocked. “If I may make a suggestion-”

“You may not.”

“Can you at least listen-”

“To your annoying voice? I would rather not.”

“I know refusing help is a matter of principle for you, but-”

“Your help comes with a lot of chatter that I am unable to withstand right now.”

“Stop!” shouted David, exasperated. “The castle isn’t safe for this sort of encounter and you know I sleep in the kennels more often than not. My house would be available to you, should you need a quiet place, to meet your lady in private.” He barely had time to finish his sentence, before Frank pinned him to the wall behind.

“How dare you?” he barked. “How dare you allude, think of such a thing? That I would dishonor her like this? That I would take her-”

David laughed in his face. “You misunderstand me, my friend,” he said and pushed him back. “Firstly, it is not unreasonable to think you will be needing to have private discussions. Better have them somewhere free from danger, instead of…” he waved his hand towards the sky. “Any place under the moon. While it suits a lover’s needs, you mustn’t risk exposure. Secondly, I do not think you would take her anywhere. She would take you. Oh, she would carry you, if she had to!” he laughed again.

“She would not,” Frank scoffed.

“Let’s not argue over this,” he retorted. “You know she will. And you will not try to stop her.”

Frank wanted to protest these claims, but all the fight had gone from him.

When the King came to the training grounds to find him the next morning, Frank was in such a good mood that his stomach didn’t even turn at the sight of his most hated enemy. Perhaps that had something to do with William’s grave expression as well, the anger flaring up in his usually vacant eyes. He had a piece of parchment in his hands, which he kept straightening and crumpling to the point of disintegration. “I have received word of Sir Hugh’s fortune,” William rumbled. “It would appear that his horse threw him down a cliff. What was left of his corpse was identified by the crest on his robe.” Then he proceeded to describe to Frank the exact state of Sir Hugh’s remains, in as much gruesome detail as possible, hoping to gauge a reaction from him.

But Frank had better things with which to occupy himself. “Oh, no,” he said, his face dull and his tone flat as he tried to bring the conversation to a close. “Are we to expect the horse back at least?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I started writing this, I didn't think I'd end up enjoying it so much, but I do. I dooo! So I hope you enjoy the result!


	5. Passion speechless lies

It wasn’t often that Francis asked to meet in the kennels, usually because David was the one who had information to share, not the other way around. Although there were some comments he had picked up recently, he knew better than to disclose them to Francis. His friend didn’t need to know what scandalous desires his darling had awakened in some of the nobles’ loins; her engagement to the King was torment enough. Though David was curious about the reason of their meeting, his curiosity was quickly replaced by concern upon finding Francis seated on the floor with his back to the wall, his hand absently petting a dog’s head while the animal sniffed at his clothes. Judging from the dark circles under his eyes, he was deprived of sleep.

“It’s Sunday,” David said, crouching in front of him. “The first banns have been observed.”

“We should celebrate then. It is a joyous occasion after all,” Frank responded and laughed out loud, a delirious sound which made David worry about the state of his mind. “We should go to the tavern and drink until we don’t remember our very names.”

“To be seen together in public? What a ludicrous notion,” he stood up and gently kicked Frank’s foot. He chose to consider his friend kicking back as a good sign, even though his kick wasn’t all that gentle. “You could forget your name, as well as those of your mother and your father, but they are not the ones causing you grief.”

“Aren’t you too clever, for a fool?”

“I have to be clever to be a fool. You don’t have to be foolish to be a knight and yet you strive towards foolishness,” he remarked. “Have you spoken to your lady yet?”

Of course he hadn’t spoken to her. It wasn’t all that easy. A rumble that sounded suspiciously like a growl came from Frank’s chest, as he glared at his friend. At least this reaction made him appear less hollow. He patted the dog’s head one last time and reluctantly rose from his place, dusting himself off. “To tell her what? To run away with me? She is accustomed to a certain standard of living that I couldn’t provide for her, even as a knight. Am I to ask her to bury herself in some hovel, for the pleasure of my company?”

“I can assure you there is no pleasure to be had in your company,” David quipped, undaunted by his friend’s irritability. “But I would think Lady Katherine has already made her choice. She all but threw herself at you the other night.”

“Watch your tongue,” Frank warned.

“I cannot watch it, as it lies inside my mouth.”

“I can rip it out, if you wish to observe it more closely.”

David knew which threats should be taken seriously and this wasn’t one of them. But he chose to treat it as a serious one, to make his friend feel better, if nothing else. So he shook his head and pretended to be frightened. Frank could see through the charade, of course; nonetheless, he appreciated it.

“Could you…” Frank hesitated, chastising himself for what he was about to ask. “Could you help me, David?”

“Oh, do stop dawdling,” he exclaimed. “You know I will help you. Just tell me what you require of me.”

“I require safe passage, for her.” His gratitude was palpable, but his appearance was that of a man being taken to the gallows.

“For her? If I remember correctly, you said you wouldn’t leave her. Or was the music so loud that my ears deceived me?” David mocked while Frank seemed to shrink in front of him. “The Seintespirit docked at the port early in the morning, did you know?”

“How would I know? And why would I care?”

“She will only stay for a few days, a week at most, and then she will sail back to Bordeaux. All three of us could be on board, when she does.”

“And your family is in Clermont.” Not too far from Bordeaux. Not far at all. Frank gawked at him. “Were you planning on being on that ship regardless of my situation?”

“I may have thought about it,” he shrugged, glancing at the ground. When Frank’s palm landed heavily on his shoulder, he looked up and blinked in surprise at the mollified expression on his face.

“Two years you have remained here, hating every day, because of me?”

“Do not flatter yourself, you buffoon,” David laughed. “I suspected you would be helpless without me, but I had other reasons for staying. Leaving was hazardous before. Staying is becoming less safe with each passing day. We should go now, Francis. You know we should.” The muscles on Frank’s shoulders quivered and he let out a long sigh; that was his only reply. “Let two more Sundays pass and Lady Katherine will be the King’s wife,” David added. “As good as lost.”

Frank gave a slow nod, trying to hide just how unsettling the thought was. Delighted by his own voice, William enjoyed talking. He would have much to say about his wedding night and Frank would have to listen. “I will try to speak with her tomorrow. Make all the necessary arrangements. The Seintespirit mustn’t leave without us.” His friend’s face beamed with mirth. “If for any reason I could not join you-”

“As expected, we cannot have a moment without gloom,” David threw his hands up, frowning.

“What you call gloom, I call heedfulness. If I could not join you, you would protect her, keep her safe. Wouldn’t you?”

“I would try,” he nodded, “but I am no knight.”

Frank mulled over what were considered as knightly virtues; hope, courage, generosity- among others. The jester didn’t know the first thing about yielding a sword, and yet… “Somedays, I think you are more knight than I.”

David let out a sound of disgusted amusement. “What a terrible thing to say.”

***

Her patience tested beyond its limit, Karen was forced to stand at the steps while the King gathered his knights around him, preparing to set out of their scheduled inspection of the estate, a task he’d made sure to let her know he found boring. He greeted each one of them with friendly words, laughing and patting them on the back. When it came to Frank, he behaved a little bit differently. He was surprisingly affectionate to him, hugging him and holding him close, even though Frank stiffened on contact, a muscle ticking in his jaw as he tried his best to appear respectful in his iciness. His shoulders seemed to relax when he was finally allowed to step away from the encounter and mount his horse. Karen did as she was expected, serenely smiling and bowing to William before he urged his horse forward. But when Frank turned in her direction, inclining his head to her in an imperceptible motion, she could feel her heartbeat quickening into a gallop, almost as though it wanted to run after him. There was so much they had to discuss and the fact that she couldn’t conceive of a way to talk to him, undisturbed, was driving her mad. And to make matters worse, she would have to put up with a session of embroidery next.

When she went to the chapel later, the stained glass saints looked down on her with silent contempt. That was their purpose after all, to remind people how flawed they were, since God couldn’t come down from heaven to do it himself. Was there one among them who would take pity on the lovelorn? No, she knew they would be deaf to her pleas and it was just as well; she hadn’t come to pray, but rather to think. Why her hands were still clasped together was unclear, but if by chance a shred of divine wisdom happened to land upon her, she was prepared to welcome it.

“Lady Katherine,” the fool’s whisper echoed through the nave. In the midst of the previous accursed silence, it sounded like an angel’s voice to her ears. The bright green outfit of the jester was barely visible under his cloak and the vague thought that it didn’t suit him at all crossed her mind as she got up from her knees. “A quick word?”

“Yes, certainly,” she said. “I was hoping I could talk to you. Would you convey a message to our mutual friend?”

David narrowed his eyes at her. “I will never not be mystified by the link between lovers’ minds. Our mutual friend had a message for you as well. It seems rather silly to me, but I suppose you would have a secret language, wouldn’t you?”

He put his hand out to reveal a tiny daisy lying in the center of his palm. It was half crushed, the poor thing, but it must have been by accident. Karen thought of Frank’s rough hands, imagined him trying to hide it in the hollow of his fist so that it could be delivered safely to her. She also imagined him disappointed at his failure to keep it intact, wanting nothing more than to assure him she would cherish it no less in this condition. “The language of flowers is no secret,” she told David, picking up the flower with trembling fingers. “You know very well what this means.”

“I have known Francis to be loyal for a while now, I had no need of a flower to inform me of his character.” He cleared his throat, squirming with awkwardness as he changed the subject entirely. “If I am not mistaken, you were invited to dine with Lord Compton this evening.”

Karen scowled at this. “Yes, but I have no great desire to go.”

“I think you do,” David smirked. “I think you desperately want to go and pay attention to the route, my Lady. One might say you would want to memorize the trail, because you will notice a small house on your way there.”

“Whose house would that be?” she asked, intrigued by the wily look in his eye.

“It belongs to the rust and the rot, as its moss-grown door will verify,” David chuckled. “Rumor has it that it’s haunted and everybody knows ghosts have no interest in gossip. So you will find that there is no need for whispering there, if you choose to go.”

If she chose to go. The choice had been made already. She was willing to go many places in order to meet Frank; a cave, the bottom of a lake, the most dreary dungeon built by human hands. A small house was practically a mansion in her eyes. She looked at the crumpled daisy in her hand.

“Am I right in thinking you will be delivering your message yourself?”

“I wonder what proof you will have of my insanity on a moonless night, dear fool,” said Karen, turning her back to the disapproving gaze of the saints.

He tried his best not to laugh too loudly. “Where you have chosen to bestow your affection should be proof enough, Lady Katherine. Though there is time to change your mind.”

“What would you do, were you in my place?”

Though he smiled hesitantly, a valiant attempt at remaining calm, Karen could still see the trepidation in his eyes as he pulled his hood over his head and started walking away from her.

“If I were you, my Lady, I never would have set foot here.”

When the time came to set out for Lord Compton’s estate, Karen and her attendants were escorted by the King to his gilded coach; an honor she didn’t know what to make of, since she shouldn’t be allowed to use the vehicle yet, not before they were married. They were also granted the protection of a knight for their short travel. If she had been offered a choice, it would be Frank sitting next to the coachman. As it were, Frank stood behind his King, stoic and surly. William helped her into the comfortable carriage, his hand light under her elbow. He leaned forward, as if to whisper something to her and she readied herself for his honeyed words, an event which was thankfully interrupted by loud voices. The King turned away from her and shut the door, as she forced back a sound of relief.

The commotion was caused by two men, one with the King’s crest on his chest and one dressed in rags, exhibiting little resistance against the other’s firm grip on his neck, weak as he was. A single look at him and Karen immediately felt guilty at her previous contentment. If Frank had the luxury of letting his emotions show, she’d see a flash of disquiet cross his face.

“Is that our thief then?” William asked, walking up to them at a relaxed pace.

“The very one, Your Grace,” the guard said, pushing the criminal down to his knees.

“Sir Francis, you know what to do. The hand that took the bread has to come off. Go ahead, do as you must,” he said casually, as though he was merely commenting on the area’s levels of humidity.

Such practices weren’t entirely uncommon and King William was by no measure a soft-hearted man, but she had hoped… The last thing Karen heard as the carriage pulled away was Frank trying to reason with the King and she bit her lip to stop herself from crying, unsuccessful though her effort proved to be.

“Your Majesty,” Frank pleaded, “isn’t his miserable state punishment enough?”

“His state did not dissuade him from trying to steal from me, Francis,” the King drawled, marking each word with a tone of disgust.

“Look at him, he is malnourished and feeble,” he insisted. “Let me feed him and put him to work. He could be useful at the stables.”

“You want to reward him for his crime?” William jeered, not the slightest sign of amusement showing through the slits of his eyes. “Should I let him sleep in my bed next? No, you will cut off his hand, as you were told and you will trouble me no longer,” he declared and made sure to stomp away in the most petulant way possible.

Frank hanged his head and grabbed the disconsolate man by the shoulder, lifting him up. The man looked at him in pure terror, but instead of begging for mercy, he started sniveling. The knowledge that the old King would have never done something so cruel accompanied their footsteps as they walked towards the stables. When the outer gatehouse was within sight, Frank loosened his grip and dared a look behind him. He considered that taking such risks at the time was ill-advised, at the very least, and then the man put out a shaky hand, resigned to his fate. That settled his mind. “Stand up,” Frank said, letting go of him.

“What?” he muttered between sobs.

“Stand up, you dunce.” He placed a shilling in his palm and nodded pointedly. “Use what strength you have left to run. And never show your face here again, unless you want us both to lose our heads.”

“Sir Knight, I…” he mumbled, looking from his savior to the coin and back again.

“Did you not hear me?” Frank wanted to shout, but kept his voice down. “Leave now, before I change my mind.”

Finally complying with the order, the man turned tail and ran, leaving behind him only a cloud of dirt. William would be furious if he found out about this. Frank almost wanted him to find out, so that he might finally understand how little his commands mattered, and that loyalty was something he had no right to demand, since he had done nothing to earn it. If he had only himself to worry about, Frank would have marched up to him and told him how he’d let the thief escape; but there was Karen to consider too. So he grudgingly searched for a chicken to slay with his sword, hoping that the King, satisfied with the small amount of blood shed in the courtyard, would be none the wiser.    

***

Though she had heard many songs about lovers meeting, nothing could have prepared Karen for the battle of emotions which would be raging inside her, as she let the shadows swallow her up on the way to David’s house. She would have been much more preoccupied with thoughts of love, if not for the scene she had witnessed earlier. This would be the first time she’d be alone with Frank, without fear of being interrupted or discovered; alone, save for the rapidly spreading stain the King’s malice had produced. She had seen the bloodthirst in Frank’s eye before, she’d considered it natural for a warrior, but she hadn’t believed he would be capable of such pettiness in order to satisfy it, until now. The image of him she had built up in her mind was flaking; his honor, his gallantry, illusions she’d summoned simply to justify her feelings for him, wearing away like a waking dream.

Then again, when the King he had sworn to obey gave him a clear order, how was Frank supposed to act? He had tried to argue, of course. Was that enough to keep the pedestal she had raised him on from wobbling? Such questions plagued her over and over, almost making her lose her way once. The possibility of getting lost was alarming. Never mind the dark eeriness of the night, the wind whistling through the trees like a harbinger of doom; if she got lost, a search party would be sent after her. She couldn’t even conceive how harsh the punishment for her midnight stroll would be. But that wasn’t what made her teeth chatter.

The moss squelched like a wet sponge under her palms as she pushed the door open and quickly shut it behind her, its hinges complaining against the activity. Frank leapt out the chair he’d been sitting in, his arms hanging at his sides, hands curled into awkward fists. Karen registered the astonishment on his face- he hadn’t expected her to come. Or perhaps he had hoped that she wouldn’t. Her fingers, just as jittery as her stomach, pulled down her hood first and then fumbled with the laces of the cloak.

Frank tried to hold her gaze, but her eyes darted all over the room.

“Tell me…” she began with a shaky breath.

“I let him go,” he replied, divining her concern. Unable to stand the ache of seeking eyes that refused to look back at him, he turned to glowering at the floor. “The man was clearly starving. Who in their right mind could blame him for trying to survive?”

With a small smile tugging at her lips, Karen finally unfastened her cloak and set it on a nearby chair. “I feared-”

“That I would have obeyed gladly?”

“That I might have loved you either way,” she finished her sentence, her breath catching. Taking a step forward, she watched his wounded expression shift; his features brightened as he slowly unclenched his fists. “That is an untruth. I knew I would have loved you either way, but I prayed you wouldn’t let it be so.”

“Why would you love me at all?” Frank groaned.

“Because you kept my secret.” She didn’t think it needed saying, but the wounded animal standing before her begged for solace regardless. “Because you did not think to keep your bloodstained hands from me.” Why did she ever question him? He was more man than fiend. She had known this from the start. “And let us not forget, you saved my life too.”

Swept by the gentle current of her affection, he drifted towards her. “You think too highly of me.” He tried to sound strict and rough, a reminder of his low birth and his unclean hands, but it was no use. Though the terrible darkness which had engulfed him was struggling to bring him down again, he followed Karen’s light to the surface. It was so close now, only a breath away. If he could only remember how to breathe.

One more step. Confident, free of doubt. Her hand rose up, poised but an inch away from his chest, over his heart. It was a measured move, not the heedless impulse of infatuation. “Are you not mine to think of?” she asked.

“I am,” his voice came out in a whisper.

“Then I will think of you as I please.”

The frame of the world began to shake as her hand came to rest on his chest, the other reaching for his arm and pulling him closer. It felt to him as though he had reached the edge of the Earth; he was teetering over it, staring into the infinite blue. He would still be afraid of falling, if Karen’s hands weren’t so steady on him, holding him together. Having dreamt of this moment often, he now found his imagination severely lacking.

“Will you say nothing to me?” Karen said with a soft giggle.

“I have nothing to offer you,” Frank replied, like an apology. “No titles, no wealth. No words.”

She laughed a little louder as she squeezed his arm. “What care have I for titles, when you have crowned me your heart’s queen?”

“And that you would be, even with a real, golden crown on your head.”

Her body clashed with his, interrupting both speech and logical thought. It scared him, how easily he cradled her cheek in his palm, thumb grazing the corner of her mouth which lifted in a bewitching smile.

“Any real crown would be too heavy, despite its size. I much prefer a lover who is worth his weight in gold.”

Well, if she wanted words from him, why was she working so hard to render him mute? Frank could regret his impertinence later, much later. For the moment, he buried his face in her neck, notes of lavender filling his nose as he inhaled deeply, trying to drag the scent off her skin. He wanted to kiss her, but even with her palms flattened on his back, her arms tightening around him, he still felt like he hadn’t earned it; especially as he seemed to be giving in to his lower instincts.

Karen pulled back from the embrace and gave him a sternly affectionate look. “You would not force me to run away to a convent and become a nun, would you?” He shook his head in response. “Then I will have your words three now, dear heart.”

“I do love you,” he huffed and his lungs practically rattled with the effort it took to speak.

“I see you are not adept at counting,” she smiled. “But it is a skill that can be taught.”

Down the line, Frank would have trouble remembering how the next events unfolded. Did he throw his head back in laughter and then leaned in to kiss her, or did her arm come up to his neck and drew his head down to her mouth, sealing his lips with hers as he gathered her in his arms, drowning out all sounds besides the thumping of their hearts? It was probably the latter, with Karen being far more daring than he could ever be. But that didn’t matter. What mattered was that she had stolen his breath and now, she was giving it back to him, challenging him to do the same, soft lips pushing back hard against his. When he came up for air, Karen had a dazed look about her, as though spellbound with delight while she blinked slowly, and he dipped in for another kiss, and another and another, until neither one of them could remember where they were or how they came to be here or that they weren’t alone in the world.

His hands had only just begun traveling down her waist when he finally plucked up the will to untangle himself from her, and they both staggered slightly, almost like their separation had stripped them of their balance. With lips swollen from kissing, Karen grinned at him. Her betrothal to the King was a vague concern right now- to be dealt with at some other time, when the sun wasn’t rising in the room while it was still night out, when the stars in her eyes weren’t Frank’s single point of focus.

Compelled by some unfathomable impulse, Frank reached one hand to the nape of her neck and pulled the ribbon from her braid, his fingers seeking to untwine and free her hair from the tight plait it was bound. Golden tresses flowing over her shoulders, she looked every bit the nymph he’d imagined her to be that first night in the woods.

“While I am familiar with your reticence, my love, you seem to struggle more with language today,” Karen sighed, bringing her palm up to his cheek.

He leaned into her touch and then pulled her hand to his mouth, pressing hot lips to her knuckles. “It is sinful to even think of this, but if you will have me-”

“I will,” she interrupted, an expression of joyful serenity spread on her face.   

“You would be less than a knight’s wife,” Frank advised as his heart soared. “You should give the matter a little more thought.”

“I have thought about it and I am determined to have you,” she nodded.

“We would have to flee, live in a boscage somewhere, so that no one could find us,” he said again, squeezing her fingers. He was no mason, but he would happily trade his sword for a mallet, build her a home from the ground up.

“I said I will have you,” Karen’s face lit up. “There is no need for further enticement. A kiss to seal the deal is all that is required now.”

Marveling at his extraordinary luck, he wet his lips and laughed. “I might be too greedy to stop at one.”

“By all means, exact your toll,” she told him.

And he did.

***

The plan was simple enough.

First, Karen would have to send her maid back home, with the excuse that her services were no long necessary, since she would have the ladies-in-waiting at her disposal and all the maids His Majesty could afford her. Lyse was a good woman and neither Frank nor Karen could leave her behind in good conscience, knowing what a cruel fate she might suffer at William’s hands after their departure. Convincing her to leave was a different matter altogether. Karen’s arguments had been met with irrational and steadfast resistance, until there was no point in insisting anymore. A blubbering mess, Lyse had conceded and to sweeten the blow the news of Karen’s elopement would deliver, she agreed to take a message back to her mother; to trust that she had chosen well and that she would be happy. No apologies were made; Karen didn’t feel that they were owed or expected. She was certain her mother would understand.

Seeing as Frank couldn’t go to the docks without raising suspicion, David was sent to pay for passage on the ship. They would have to travel with the bare essentials and under false names, obviously. Lady Katherine Rosenvinge was more than happy to write a letter of recommendation for her three friends, Frank, Karen and Dov, sealing it with her personal signet. And as an added touch of caution, they would board the ship after nightfall, to avoid getting recognized by anyone. By morning, when their absence would be discovered, they would be on their way to France, free at last.

With only three days left until their daring escape, Frank tried to suppress his elation, but smiles appeared on his face before he could stop them and he didn’t shout at anybody during training, though some amateur mistakes were made. He even laughed and then cheered the bannermen on. Only a couple of them gave him puzzled looks, a fact he found entirely droll, his shoulders shaking with another round of laughter. When the King arrived to survey his warriors’ progress, Frank caught himself not caring. They would soon be out of his reach and that was victory enough.

“Sir Francis,” he motioned to him. He seemed oddly restrained. “Come speak with me.”

Frank handed his practice sword to his squire and ambled his way to William, thinking about the wrath their disappearance would provoke. “Your Majesty,” he bowed deeply, eyes shining as he rose back up. To his surprise, William didn’t pull him aside like he was used to doing.

“You are in good spirits,” he remarked simply. “But of course you would be.”

“I would?” Frank asked, frowning in confusion.

“You cannot hide from me. I have seen you look like this before.” A cold smile appeared on William’s face. “All the signs point to you being in love, Francis. Who is the lucky lady?”

And he thought he was being careful. “I can assure you…”

The King waved a dismissive hand. “You cannot seem to understand a very simple thing. Love is a hindrance, it makes us lose sight of our true purpose! And your true purpose is to be my weapon. Now, what use is a weapon not sharp enough to wound my enemies?” His rage steamed off of him in waves, but he remained composed. “I have thought about simply replacing you, though not without sorrow. But when you killed Sir Hugh, I found myself wanting to give you another chance.” He paused, to examine Frank’s reaction. Although Frank did nothing to confirm the allegation, he didn’t try to deny it either. “I have spent too much time, too many resources on honing you to throw you away so easily, after all. You have been contaminated by love, Francis. It was not your fault. I understand and I can forgive you.”

“How gracious of you,” Frank snarled, as anger and panic overwhelmed him.

“For men like us, love can only be a way to pass the time. A game!” he exclaimed in mock cheerfulness. “You let it become more than that once and look what happened. As your oldest friend, my dear Francis, I must warn you. Be what you were meant to be, before I lose my patience.” Frank had to admit his impression of concern had gotten better with time. “Do not force me to take away your toys again.”

“Again?” he stammered, shaking, his head swimming with grief.

“You have been warned, Francis,” William said and walked away proudly, leaving Frank to drown in his despair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the delay. I've been having some eye trouble that made reading hard and typing extremely difficult. But I persevered and here is the fruit of my labour. I hope you like it! Let me knooow!


	6. He that hath all can have no more

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! And goodbye, for this is where this story ends. But there will always be another and another and another, and we can gather around metaphorical fires and trade them, and laugh and cry, and huddle against each other for support. (Can you tell I dream of a world where I can communicate exclusively in run-on sentences?)
> 
> Share your thoughts, if you so wish, and/or come make friends with me on tumblr. I'm always happy to hear from you, either here or at [bottled-bliss](https://bottled-bliss.tumblr.com/)

“How could you not have known? You, who knows everything?”

David’s mind was usually quick to process all sorts of information and come up with –occasionally witty- answers, but at present, with Frank’s forearm crushing his windpipe, he found the task a little bit difficult to accomplish. The enmity in his friend’s eyes should be reserved exclusively for the King; he never would have thought it would be aimed at him. “There are many things I don’t know and wish I did. Such as the reason why I keep associating myself with you,” he would have said, if he were able to speak. “Are you mad?” is what he eventually said, after wildly thumping the arm pressed against his throat and stomping on Frank’s foot twice before he deigned to back down, leaving David gasping for breath as they glared at each other.

“Perhaps I am,” Frank seethed to himself. “Who in this court would be so vile to blindly do William’s bidding, even if it involved killing innocent children? You must know that at least.”

“Besides our deceased friend, Sir Hugh?” David coughed. “I should think none other could be so wicked.”

“Then I have missed my chance.” Had he known at the time, he would have given Sir Hugh a longer lasting death, or at least one that was much more painful. “Fortune laughs at me again.”   

“What are you grumbling about? What in God’s name has happened?”

In a less incensed moment, embarrassment might have taken over, an earnest apology might have been uttered and the quarrel would have been mended. But Frank simply turned his back and took off without a word. With the normal flow of oxygen restoring his cerebral capabilities, David tried to put two and two together. It didn’t take him too long.

***

In the Great Hall, all the aristocrats, barons and baronesses, lords and ladies, began their basse danse, gliding gracefully across the floor. While they looked magnificent in their luxurious dance attire, and the slow melody was somewhat soothing, Karen wasn’t placated in the least. When the jester, who was swaying alone at the end of the dance line, caught her eye, he shook his head at her and pressed his lips together, before resuming the convivial attitude required for his act. She had looked around the room hoping for a glimpse of Frank, only to have that hope vanish in haste. It was Friday evening. It was supposed to be the last night they would spend in this place. It wasn’t supposed to be marked by Frank’s absence. He had refrained from joining the dances before, of course, brooding in some dark corner as was his custom. But this was different.

With the buzz of chatter and laughter rising to full volume after the tune had ended, the King came to sit beside her, looking absolutely free from anxiety as he smiled one of his charming smiles. “Lady Katherine, you do not seem at all well.”

“I am quite well, Your Majesty,” she forced a smile back. “Only a little tired.”

He appeared to be concerned for a brief moment and though she had no use of his concern, she thought his eagerness to please her could prove to be quite beneficial. “You should withdraw to your chambers, my dear.”

“Oh, no,” Karen protested. “I could not leave my King’s side.”

This remark satisfied him greatly and he puffed out his chest with pride. If this man had a heart, flattery would be the way to it. “Your King will not have you weakened by fatigue,” he told her, taking her hand in his and placing a soft kiss on her knuckles, before granting her permission to leave. “Go, have your rest. We will see you in the morning.”   

She thanked him –how sincere her thanks seemed- and tried to maintain a slow pace as she exited the hall, not wanting to reveal just how delighted she was to leave. In her room, she paced around nervously, waiting until silence fell all across the palace. Once she was certain there was nobody moving about the corridors, she threw on the simple cloak Lyse had left behind and carefully made her way to the yard. It was an ill-considered decision on her part and she knew it, but it seemed that fortune favored her that night, as the guards, sloppy in their task, were immersed in drunken conversation and hardly noticed the shadow sliding across the castle walls.

The only place she could think of to search for Frank was David’s house. If he wasn’t there, she had absolutely no idea where to look next or what to do at all. She couldn’t bear to think he had been hurt, lying bleeding somewhere, unable to ask for help. But what else could have kept him away?

Upon entering the house and seeing him, she felt a weight being lifted off her shoulders, however short-lived her relief was. Frank was doubled over on the floor, holding himself as though chilled to the bone, a blank stare fixed at an imaginary point behind her, looking through her as though she was made of smoke. Karen fell to her knees before him and on a quick inspection, found no injuries. It was strange to observe, but until she put her hand on his forehead to feel for a fever, he hadn’t taken notice of her presence.

Frank had been there… How long? He couldn’t even remember now, because the day he’d returned home and found his family dead had risen once again in his memory, in more detail than he would like to admit. Their blood, dried into a copper red on the rug, turning darker where it had touched the floorboards. Their eyes open, peering blindly into nothingness. The children- oh God, his children discarded on the floor like figurines carved out of ivory, all color washed out of their skin, unmoving lips half-open in accusations he knew could only have been aimed at him. He was their father, their protector, and he had failed them. Even while blaming William for their demise, Frank had blamed himself more. This endless, unrelenting guilt had consumed him for so long, gnawing at his bones, chipping away at his soul until no soul remained.

Finding out about William’s direct involvement in his family’s murder –murder, premeditated, methodical- should have alleviated part of that guilt at least, but it left him with an overabundance of it, along with the rage which was building up inside him, simmering under the thick stream of bitterness, as he tried to envision a punishment which would befit William’s crime. Even if Frank could harvest his enemy’s bones, slowly, one by one, painful screams filling his ears, would it suffice? He suspected it wouldn’t. He hadn’t felt this way in some time. He had turned into a different man since-

Karen. Was the King truly unaware of his sweetheart’s identity or was feigning ignorance just another part of his scheme? No, it couldn’t be. If he knew, his hurt pride would have made him lash out in resentment already; not waiting for an executioner, her blood would have been spilled on the stone floor of the palace, in front of everyone. Frank shook the horrific image out of his head. Karen was safe; untouched and untouchable. She had to be, because if anything ever happened to her, everything would lose its meaning. The threat still stood however. She could be taken away at any moment. Frank’s heart struggled to beat against the cold clutch of fear, as he reached for the hand stroking his face.

“This is no time for silence, my love.”

He had made promises to this woman, but the call to vengeance was growing stronger every minute. “How many times must I beg your forgiveness? You will soon run out of the damn thing.”

“You did nothing to warrant forgiveness,” she ventured a small smile, encouraged by the tender tone of his voice. “But I will always have some to spare, for you.”

“My heart, what if I do not deserve it?” He turned his lips to her wrist, felt her pulse beating against them.

Her other hand rose to the side of his neck, tracing a vein with her thumb, and almost shivered at the coldness of his skin. “Of course you do. Everybody does.”

“Even William?” His eyes were harsh and cold, brow furrowed sharply as repulsion dripped through his tone. His pressure on her hand increased. “One must be in possession of a soul in order for it to be absolved,” he said, gnashing his teeth together.

“Will you now make me the target of your wrath?” Karen retorted, her hand slack in his, but still there. This snapped him out of his angered daze and he released his hold on her, pushing his back against the wall. He would have asked for forgiveness again, if he didn’t feel he had already overdone it. “Did I give you leave to let go of me?” she said, too kindly to sound imperious. “Take my hand and tell me what ails you.”

Of all the stories a man could tell his lady, this wasn’t one Frank had envisaged narrating. As his thumb grazed the skin below her knuckles, he started giving her the full account. From the hideous murder of his family up to William’s not-so-veiled threat, he didn’t even think to spare her any of the horrible elements of the story. It didn’t lessen his burden, but there was some kind of comfort in telling her everything. Karen listened, heart aching and lips sealed, until his tears began flowing and then she couldn’t hold hers back anymore. This hapless creature was entitled to his vengeance. Hesitantly moving closer so she could wrap an arm around his shoulders, she contemplated if she had the right to ask him not to pursue it. Not because William deserved mercy. If anything, his actions had earned him a place in nothingness, a void as massive as the hollowness of his heart. But they deserved happiness, didn’t they?

“Now it is you opting for silence,” he murmured, gently rubbing tears off her face, with no regard for those drying on his own.

“For I am seized by fear.” She leaned her head on his shoulder and sighed when he leaned his head on hers.

“How can this be?” said Frank, tangling his fingers with hers. “I know you to be fearless, above all else.”

“You jest,” she marveled.

“I jest,” he confirmed. “Above all else, I know you to be stubborn.” He rubbed his eyes with the heel of his palm and a tired groan escaped him. “So I ask you, my stubborn lady, when this is finished, will you still love me?”

This. She knew what _this_ was. He didn’t have to say it. And it was the very thing which made her scared. “Until the end of days, I will love you,” she said softly and straightened up, bringing the delicate moment to an abrupt close. “But I will not hear the banns a second time.”

A lamentable moan clawed its way out of Frank’s throat. He didn’t have to search her face to determine whether she was being serious. She would never risk her one chance at freedom and to ask her for a postponement would be unthinkable. He could handle being cursed with nightmares, but he would die before forcing Karen to live in one.

Karen clasped his hand tenderly in her own. “How horrible this is to say,” she shook her head. “I know your heart still aches for your family. I know it will never stop. What you have lost cannot be recovered. And yet, you must consider how much there is to lose still.”

“How can I live, knowing that he is not in his grave?” he snapped.

“Do you want to bestow such an honor upon him? That he should be in control of your happiness? He has taken enough from you. Do not give him this too.” Her eyes lowered to the floor as she strengthened her grip on his hand. She could almost feel it slipping from her grasp. No doubt he was thinking of ways he could explain how deeply rooted his hatred was, to make her see; but she didn’t let him, yanking him by the arm in a move that wasn’t even vaguely reminiscent of the affection to which she had accustomed him. “You once told me you have had your fill of battles. This is but one more. And you could choose not to take the field,” she said while he gawked at her. “You can leave with me tomorrow, instead of staying here to rot in misery and hatred for as long as you have left.”

In all her life, she had never met anyone like him, a soul forged in steel and fire, much like his sword. His eyes were on her face, perhaps looking for something comforting to erase the horrors reflected in them, as his chest rose and fell rapidly. After a short moment of hesitation, Karen leaned forward, touching her lips to his. It was the closest she could come to asking him if she was enough, the closest she would come to begging. She wondered how long it would take him to see reason, counting inside her head-- one, two… On three, he sighed against her mouth, his body softening and loosening, one nerve at a time. 

“We leave tomorrow night, as planned,” he said then, drawing a long breath and letting it out slowly. He had seen many deaths avenged during his lifetime and all instances had one thing in common; they didn’t bring the dead back. “William will meet his doom one way or another. I do not need to see it happen.”

Though it wasn’t the most hopeful of notes to wind up their conversation, at least it brought it to a favorable conclusion. “Oh, thank the Lord,” Karen beamed. “I was beginning to think I have lost you.”

“The Lord has nothing to do with it, you devil.” Some of the color returning to his face, he grinned. “You are the only one who holds power over me.”

“You should be slightly more perturbed by your heart being in a devil’s possession,” she replied, feeling her cheeks burn.

“Of course, my lady. I am filled with dread, as you can see,” he chuckled and then his face settled into a mask of solemnity. “Did you mean what you said? Would you truly leave without me?”

Karen lowered her eyes. “I would.” When she looked up at him again, his face was drawn in an expression of intense regard and he nodded once, softly.

“Good,” he told her. “That makes you the wisest amongst us three and we need a person who is still of sound mind, if our enterprise is to succeed.”

“David does not think me wise,” she giggled quietly, covering her mouth with her hand to avoid revealing the reason why the fool thought her to be a fool as well.

“I would not take the bobolyne’s opinion into consideration. He did choose to befriend me after all.”

His playful derision pushed Karen over the edge and she found herself unable to suppress the gales of laughter erupting from her, as she threw her arms around him and tried to muffle the sound against his chest.

“What a strange woman you are,” Frank remarked tenderly, keeping his hand on the small of her back while her giddiness reverberated through his body.

“Which you knew when you loved me,” she said and gave him a brief kiss on the cheek. “And if it did not dishearten you then, it should not do so now, you dalcop.”

He drew back in surprise. “Dalcop? You called me your love, not too long ago,” he said with a sigh of mock despair as he bowed his head. “How easy it is to fall from grace.”

“Yet no harm came to you from falling, since you have landed in my arms,” Karen smiled and pulled him closer, kissing the bridge of his nose. His eyes crinkled up at the corners as he smiled. “Worry not, I shall keep you safe.”

Though she said this half in jest, Frank was almost certain truer words had never been spoken.

As begrudging as he was to show his face at the Great Hall the following evening, Frank agreed it was the only way to evade arousing suspicion and muttering insults under his breath, he allowed his feet to drag him there. He plopped down heavily on his seat between two of the younger knights, growling his responses when they addressed him, which made them give up on the possibility of a conversation with him very quickly. His blood turned hot each time he caught William’s eye and even though he stared daggers at him, the King had surely mistaken his attendance as a sign of compliance. His repulsive smirk could attest to that. Strengthening his grip on his wooden spoon until he could almost feel it crack in his palm, Frank had to remind himself that only an hour or two separated him from never having to look at that smug face again. No purpose would be served by ramming tableware in the King’s chest.

Demure and tranquil, Karen sat beside the King, listening to whatever tale of valor he had chosen to regale her with, her eyes carefully trained on the plate set before her as she fiddled with the end of her braid. She occasionally smiled, though Frank could see through the customary politeness, discerning her eagerness to be done with it all. When William dragged her to join a circle dance, it wasn’t excitement that shone on her face, but vexation, which she disguised to perfection with yet another curl of her lip. Frank was fairly confident she liked to dance; it was the setting that wasn’t to her liking.

Her hands lifting to clap together called his attention to the embroidery on her sleeves, the small birds appearing to take flight with each swoosh of the fabric. That sight helped him breathe easier and his fingers unclenched from the spoon, placing it on the table with a steady and calm hand. His appetite was still spoiled, but the pain in his stomach abated. If it wasn’t for Karen, he would have abandoned the plan already. If it wasn’t for her, he never would have considered leaving the ground at all. As a matter of fact, he would have sought ways to be buried in it. But now, his heart soared heavenward as he looked at her, and though it wasn’t actually possible, he swore he would give her the sky.

He wasn’t the first to leave after supper, moping around grumpily –but no more than usual- just to be seen by enough witnesses, before returning to his bedchamber for the pouch he had prepared for the trip. His children’s toys stood on the trestle table, where he’d initially believed they would have to remain. Basic necessities meant no useless manikins taking up space. Except now, with one foot out the door, he couldn’t bear leaving them behind. He quickly shoved two of them in the pouch and then, one hand clasping his cloak around his body and the other resting on the hilt of his sword, he left without looking back.

Out in the bailey, the snappy air pinched his cheeks as he scanned the surrounding area for movement. Besides a few rats scuttling towards the kitchen, no other living creature was moving about. The guards supposed to be covering the postern gate were, by that time, lying supine by the wall, snoring softly. They wouldn’t be waking up anytime soon; apparently, though Frank had had his doubts, David’s offering of ale spiced up with henbane had done the trick.

Right after setting foot outside the castle walls, Karen’s hand landed on his shoulder, her fingers squeezing his tense muscles in a hurried gesture of reassurance, revealing the little oil lamp she was hiding under her cloak, before she had to pull the thick fabric over it again to keep the flame invisible for a short while. “I thought we could do with a bit of light,” she said in her lowest voice. He gave her a silent nod and led her by the arm, away from that place, just as he should have done at the outset. By this point, David would be sitting tight at the edge of the forest, where the three of them would finally assemble and make their way to the docks as an ordinary group of friends.

They walked into the woods, one hand held out at all times to avoid any unseen obstacles, of which there were many. A few scrapes and cuts were to be expected, but with the help of Karen’s lamp, serious injuries were avoided. With the castle growing smaller in the distance, Frank slowed his pace by a fraction, to make sure that Karen wouldn’t be worn out from the walk before they made it to the ship. Her gracious smile lit by the tiny flame of the lamp almost made his heart stop and he paused for a moment, wondering if this –being on a path to near-uninterrupted happiness- was only a dream that would fade away with the first light of dawn.

“It is not fear I see on your face, that much I know,” said Karen, barely audible over the sound of the bubbling creek ahead, as she put her fingers on his lips. “What is it then? Disbelief?” He nodded before swerving between dark tree trunks, pulling her along. A sudden chill began spreading on her fingertips and she rubbed them together, longing for the warmth of his breath. “I can hardly believe it myself.”

“When will the realization settle do you think?” he asked.

“When we have sea on all sides, perhaps,” she sighed and then let out a little laugh. “Or when David is spewing his guts out over the bow of the ship.”

Frank laughed back, but still feeling bad about the way he’d treated him, he rushed to his absent friend’s defense regardless. “That man’s stomach is stronger than you believe.”

“Absolutely,” Karen concurred, “but I think you will find the waves are stronger than any sot.”

His eyebrows rising in surprise couldn’t hide his amusement. “Your speech is rather ungainly for a highborn lady,” he smiled and kissed her.

“But I am not a highborn lady,” she tapped his nose with the tip of her finger. “I am hedge born. I do my own laundry and prepare my own meals. My speech can be coarse and unrefined, because I am an ordinary woman now, a laborer’s wife.”

The devilish delight in her voice stilled him. If his heart swelled any further, it would burst through his ribcage. “That is a title I am not yet able to provide you.”

Karen shrugged. “As long as we are together, I can just as well be your doxy.”

“What? My doxy?” Frank exclaimed.

“Do not look so vexed, my darling,” she grinned at how his tongue seemed to be rolling back into his throat. “There are worse things to be in this world.”

“I will die before that happens,” he scoffed and reached into his pouch, his hand artlessly digging through the tangle of items with curious urgency. “I have told you that your life with me will be devoid of gold,” he said, his hand reemerging with a plain ring between his fingers, which he held up for her to see. It wasn’t much but it was all he could afford. “But, by Heaven, I would love you the same in gold and silver, as I do in bronze.”

“And I would love you the same living in sin, as I will, living in virtue,” Karen tittered.

“Dearest heart,” he whispered, yearning seeping out of every word as he slipped the ring on her finger, “do you think this trinket is powerful enough to keep sin at bay?”

“I would be offended if it did.” He got so flustered, she realized as he brushed his lips over her knuckles, even when it was him doing the teasing. But teasing was her job, it had become her favorite recreation and she couldn’t wait until she had enough time to her disposal to subject him to all sorts of sweet torture.

When he lifted his head from her hand, his mouth was curled into a mischievous grin. The desire to respond to her remark was evident, but a snapping sound coming from behind them cut the conversation short. They froze, their fingers clamping together as they stared at each other in alarm. Frank gestured for her to be quiet and placed his palm on her back, pushing her gently forward. They weren’t too far from their destination, they should be alright. “It was an animal, most likely,” he said into her ear. “But we should keep moving nonetheless. Better cover the light too.” Karen wouldn’t have thought more of it, if his hand hadn’t so swiftly moved to hang over his sword’s grip.

Much as Frank regretted it, he couldn’t stop to soothe her, put her mind at ease. Her breath was coming out quick, in low pants of air that couldn’t be enough to keep her lungs from aching; but she persevered, alert and tenacious. The worrisome noises were scattered randomly between the normal forest sounds and though this made it more difficult to detect whether they were in any actual danger, his instincts assured him somebody was following them. He didn’t want to believe it at first; they had come so far to be caught now. But then, he heard it clearly. The padding of feet, not too close, not too distant. One person, by the sound of it, though he couldn’t be entirely sure. He flexed his fingers, trying to expel his nervousness. An archer would have already let an arrow fly and-

“Would a vagrant thief have gone so long without assaulting us?” Karen whispered. She’d figured it out too.

“Could you continue on your own?” Frank asked without stopping. She spun around to glare at him and he set her back on course with a firm hand. “Could you find your way or would you get lost?” he implored. “Answer me.”

Her long braid slid down her shoulder, dangling between her shoulder blades as she straightened her back. “You are asking if I would leave you. The answer is no.”

Never had he felt so close to tears and so seized by laughter at the same time. The contradiction made his throat tighten. “I swear, there is none in the world as obstinate as you. Can’t you do as I ask, for once?”

Karen’s tone was as cold as the wind rustling the leaves above, but her voice quivered. “I do not wish to do as you ask, because it is a moronic request.”

Frank reached an arm around her waist. “Listen.” They both held their breaths. He could no longer hear footsteps, which could only mean their foe had stopped, expecting them to reveal themselves. Karen came to the same conclusion soon enough.

“William?” she gulped.

“I think so,” he spoke softly, exhaling the words against the back of her neck.

“But how? We have been so careful.” Trembling fingers covering the hand on her stomach, she suppressed a sob. “Nobody suspected a thing.”

“Lady Fortune may favor the bold, but she is asleep tonight,” he whispered in her ear. Then he pulled her braid up and tucked it into her cloak. “I will stall for time. You must find David and get on the ship. I will join you, if… As soon as I can.” Karen turned around slowly, the flame of the lamp filling the space between them with a foreboding glow. “You should pull up your hood, let no one see your face.” His voice was shaking too and the way she was biting her lip drew a small gasp from him as well. Steel eyes filling with tears, she opened her mouth to speak.

“Are you there, Francis? Why do you insist on hiding?” The malicious shout slithered through the trees, somehow carrying with it the smell of rotting leaves. “Come to me. When your King calls, your lady friend must wait.”

Before he knew it, his hand was on her cheek, the feel of her skin making his fingers tingle and his palm warm up. “For God’s sake, Karen,” he begged. “He mustn’t see you.” He leaned forward, briefly touching his lips to hers and then, thinking how he missed those lips even without the imminent threat of death, he brought his hand to the back of her neck and pulled her to him, their lips crushing together, hard and greedy and desperate. They must have been surrounded by sea then. It felt like he was drowning, the taste of salt stinging his lips. While he savored it, he wished this wasn’t going to be the last flavor he sipped from her mouth.

“You will not die here,” Karen told him, her hand running down the side of his face to rest on his jaw, as her thumb trailed his lower lip.

“If I do, you must-”

“I know what I must do,” she said and not waiting for an answer, she turned her back to him, visibly shuddering as she headed for the harbor.

He stood there for a few more moments, watching his guiding light quickly disappear into the trees and then, unsheathing his sword, he started moving towards William’s direction. “A King must have better things to do than prowling after his knights,” he yelled. His taunt was accompanied by the flutter of wings and a loud cackle, which made bile rise in his throat. But at least it helped set him on the right track.

“You presume to tell a King what to do with his time?” William retorted.  

Following the tuneless sound, Frank shifted to his left, taking slow and cautious steps. He came up to the creek bank and let it lead him to a low plain, where he could make out some wide trees and, luckily, a large amount of thicket, that would hide him from view .The moon’s soft reflection glistened faintly on the steel of his blade, a poor excuse for light, but he pressed on, careful not to lose his bearings.

“This snail’s pace doesn’t suit you, Francis!” William jeered.

“I have been meaning to tell you this for such a long time,” Frank replied loudly as he avoided tripping on a knobby root. “Your voice is grating on my nerves.” He laughed to himself. Saying it out loud felt incredibly satisfying.

“Forgive me if I am not slighted by your words,” he thundered, announcing exactly how slighted he was, “but I cannot take you seriously, your own voice being less pleasant than a dog’s bark.” Then, realizing this outburst made his charming façade peel off, he took a deep breath and switched back to cajolery. “Old friend, I only wish to speak with you. Would you call that an unreasonable demand?”

Frank stepped out from the bracken, sword raised in a demonstration of complete and utter lack of trust. “Speak then, old friend.”

William was holding his own sword in his right hand, swinging it around in smooth movements as though he was merely practicing his swordsmanship. Though he was dressed in his regular velvet robe, it would be harebrained to think there was no protective layer underneath. His disposition was ridiculously casual, but as he shifted his weight to the balls of his feet, he signaled that the battle had already begun.  “To be greeted in such a way,” he whined. “You break my heart. Why would you still oppose me? Have I not provided everything you could ever ask me?”

“I have never asked you for anything,” he snarled.

“And whose fault is that?” William bellowed. “Am I to blame for your inability to appreciate the opportunities afforded to you? Opportunities which you have squandered, the same way you have your potential. But have I been cruel in retaliation? No, I have been kind and gracious and merciful.”

Each word the King spoke was like a stab to his stomach, but letting him proceed with his passionate tirade, would give Karen and David more time to get away. Frank’s insides constricted into a tight ball of rage, his fingers curdling around the hilt’s leather as a deep growl built up in his throat. Even when he abstained from bloodshed, it sought him out. Maybe that was the price of oathbreaking.   

“And the one thing I asked in return,” William went on, “was that you were faithful to me.” He touched long fingers to his chest, like he was covering an open wound. “For one so keen on love, you have denied me yours over and over again. My friend,” he said and then continued with more fervor, “my brother, let us make peace at last. Stand at my side, where you belong.”

Overjoyed with the tension gathering on William’s shoulders as he moved, Frank took a few steps closer, aligning his sword with the space between his eyes. “You are mistaken in more ways than I care to count.”

“Why must you be such a fool?” he snapped, rubbing his eyes in irritation. “What would you do upon forsaking your knighthood? Would you turn to carpentry? You are a warrior, Francis. Your place is with me. Where your talents can be put to use.”

“I know where my place is and you’re keeping me from it,” Frank replied, blood screaming in his ears as they began circling each other.

“With a woman you met at the port?” William said with a snide smile on his face, finally raising his sword and pointing it to Frank’s chest. “It has been a long while since I visited whorehouses, but I doubt the quality of their women has improved in the meantime.”

“I daresay it has not,” he grumbled, trying to bite back insult after insult, a task at which he proved entirely unsuccessful. “They were always too good for the likes of you and nothing has changed in that regard.”

William’s dark eyes narrowed with cold amusement. “Your tastes remain simple, I see.”

If loving a kind heart was simple, then yes, Frank could pride himself in being the simplest of all men. This _friendly_ conversation could only end one way. He was sure of it, as was Karen, when she left him. He hoped to see her again, soon, maybe, but if it wasn’t meant to be, if he was to die there, he needed nothing more than her image in his eyes and the memory of her tender touch on his face. The small, wondrous things that William could never understand or appreciate.

“How would Mary feel about your new lover, I wonder,” William taunted, his sword lifting to block the attack he was provoking.

A part of Frank didn’t want to respond to the provocation, but the trained part of him knew that if he let William attack first, despite his best efforts, he would probably get hit. So he charged forward, tight-lipped and concentrated, as William eluded him with a side step and countered with a wrath blow. The blade hissed by Frank’s ear, vengeful as the man who yielded it, and he had to step backward to avoid the barrage of slashes that William aimed his way afterwards. Though reckless and sloppy, the onslaught was merciless.

As William lunged for him, Frank retreated, parrying the sword thrust and forcing him back. The King stumbled in a manner that was far from regal and let out an angry roar, as he feinted to the right and brought his sword around to the left. The sharp metal ripped through Frank’s flesh, his knee buckling under the jolt of pain on his thigh. He wouldn’t have screamed if he could, but the laceration was deep enough to justify the guttural sound that escaped him. His fingers latched on to William’s wrist, restraining his movement, and then, furious, he whacked him in the head with the pommel. Stunned and overwhelmed, William withdrew and shook his head.

Before he could react, Frank was launching another strike, bringing the edge of his sword under William’s ribs. The metallic clang it produced revealed the existence of the hauberk under the robe. William winced and huffed out an obnoxious laugh. “I did not come here to be defeated by you,” he jeered. His lungs promptly overpowered by a swift, vicious kick to the center of his torso, he fell on his back, gasping for breath.        

Frank stood over him, the point of his blade pressed against the soft flesh under his chin. “Would you like a chance to run?” he growled and drew the blade against his skin, imagining the red stream rushing up to its surface when he’d apply more pressure. “If you beg, I will consider it,” he lied.

Showing his teeth, William leaned his head back, exposing his throat further. “Do you see now? This is what you were made for.”

William was never supposed to have the last laugh, winning even while dying by his hand. These couldn’t be his final words. This was too easy, too-- His enemy brought his foot up and kicked at the still-bleeding wound on his thigh. Frank wrapped his palm around it, clamping down on it and trying to muffle his pained gasps as he pulled back. “Another round might convince you,” William spouted, his features distorted with ghastly wrath as he rose, and landed one more kick to Frank’s knuckles. “If not…” he shrugged and lifted his sword, bringing it down with all his might.

Frank’s blade fended his off just in time and reciprocated with an uppercut. For a while, the only sound that could be heard was steel clashing against steel, blades colliding in a brutal song that disturbed the forest’s peace. Through the holes he’d torn in William’s robe, his hauberk glistened now and again, reminding Frank that he should strike lower; but each blow was thwarted, leaving William with minor cuts to his legs and arms that were nowhere near deadly. And Frank’s leg wasn’t faring so well either. Once more, a wisp of air stinging his face as William’s blade missed his jaw by mere inches, Frank thought the battle might be already lost. It could be sheer stubbornness sustaining him at this point.

“You seem tired, Francis,” he said, so close to this face that Frank could feel his hot breath on him.

“Tired of you,” Frank retorted, panting, as he twisted his sword around and dragged its point across William’s forearm. He jumped back squealing and though it was exquisite to hear, it was the quick sound of blood plopping onto the fallen leaves that thrilled Frank the most.

Enraged, William bolted forward, roaring when Frank blocked his hit. Blow after blow, Frank could see the trap into which he was being driven, but unless he was willing to allow being wounded again, there was nothing he could do to avoid it. When his back slammed against a tree trunk, he pushed his sword against William’s, howling with exertion. The King disarmed him with a swift move, stealing the sword from his hand and throwing it to the side. Then, he laughed and yanked him by the collar, using the strength that he had left to throw him to the ground.

“Admirable, I must say,” he mocked, one foot pressing hard on Frank’s chest and the other kicking the side of his head. “But what a waste, electing love over being magnificent and fearsome.”

Frank snorted a breathless laugh, which earned him another kick to the head, blurring his vision.

“What is so amusing, Francis?”

“You,” he gasped. Cold steel biting into his neck didn’t stop him. “You joke of a person. You think you can teach me how to be magnificent? For all your finery, all your titles, you are nothing. ‘King Billy’ your people call you in the streets. They laugh behind your back,” he said and swallowed hard, as the pressure against his chest increased.

“Not like I laughed when I was told how your family cried for you before they died,” William snarled. Frank raised his hand to remove the foot from his chest, but William slapped it away with his blade and crouched over him, making it almost impossible to breathe. “Not like I will laugh when I find out who your new beloved is. This one, I might kill myself. Or I might have her hanged for treason. Rest assured, I will think of something special for your whore.”

Frank could have sworn his fingers were digging in the dirt, claws scrambling for purchase, but in reality, his arms were limp to his sides, his eyes losing focus as the darkness threatened to engulf him completely. Karen should be on the ship by now. Her escape could be the miracle that would make his soul weigh a little less when the time came for it to be judged. There was a distant ringing in his ears, the death bells chiming. Then, as though in a dream, the sound of soft, feathery footsteps, hurrying to him; the wood nymph who obeyed no one, risking her own freedom to save him. A flash of blue in the night and a resounding thud and a crack, and a blessed surge of oxygen filling his lungs. He sat up, inhaling hungrily.

“Lady Katherine?” William gawped, his fingers letting go of his sword, opening and closing repeatedly as though he aimed to catch it before it hit the ground. But it fell with a loud clang and lay flat by his feet. “What- what is the meaning of this?” The words came out of his stunned mouth in pauses, as he wobbled on his feet.

“Stay away from him,” Karen shrieked, still clutching the rock in her shaking hands. “Or I will hit you again.”

David was at her side, holding the lamp and bringing it up to shed some light on the grisly scene. He flinched back in horror but Karen’s eyes didn’t leave William’s face. As Frank rose up, he saw the deep dent in William’s head, the skin that had peeled away slightly to reveal a glimpse of bone beneath. “Karen,” Frank coaxed, “you should step back.” She wouldn’t have to hit him again. He’d be toppling over soon. It was a wonder he was still standing at all. Even when a thin stream of blood started trickling down his eyes, she couldn’t move, couldn’t look away. “Karen,” Frank said one more time and she slowly met his eyes.

“I am not finished,” she said simply and letting the rock fall to the ground, she turned back to William.

His mouth opened and gaped, the single sound coming out of it an agonized murmur of breath. His gaze was vacant and unblinking. Frank doubted he could be feeling much pain; he was too far gone to feel anything anymore. Witnessing the sight didn’t bring him the pleasure he had expected, especially because Karen was there too, tarnishing her hands with blood, for his sake.

“You,” William muttered, weakly. “You…”

“Yes,” she answered the unspoken question.

Her voice was tender as a lullaby, granting him a flash of peace in his final moments. Whether he deserved it or not, was irrelevant. As though the invisible thread holding him up had been severed, his eyes glazing over he dropped to his knees, his chest heaved one last time and he fell with his face to the ground, never to rise again. Karen wiped several stray tears from her cheeks and looked to Frank, noticing the blood on his thigh. “Can you walk?”

“I will help him,” David offered immediately and slid under Frank’s arm.

“Good,” she nodded. “We must hurry.”

“Wait,” Frank mumbled, but nobody paid attention to him.

“His sword. Where is his sword? If it is found here, they will think he did it,” Karen said, looking around frantically.

“Over there,” David pointed towards the trees.

“Wait,” Frank growled, grabbing her by the arm. “The three of us disappearing on the night the King was killed will be suspicious, even without evidence.”

She pulled free from his grasp and went to retrieve the weapon. It was much heavier than she’d thought, but she lifted it easily enough and restored it to its sheath. “Then all three of us might be labeled murderers. What of it?” In the span of a night, she’d gone from being a Lady to a doxy, to a whore, to a murderer. Still, she carried herself with the same grace and proud posture.

“Nobody knows where my family lives. They cannot think to hunt us there,” David interjected and Frank knew he was being ignored again.

“Marvelous,” she said, half-hearted. “We carry on. No more delays.”

“What should we do about…”

Karen glanced at the lifeless heap on the ground. Frank saw her chest swell with a sob that she choked down hastily. “We have done enough,” she sniffled. “If there are beasts in the area that need to feed, perhaps we should not deprive them of their meal.” Since William had failed to do anything worthwhile with his life, his death might as well benefit some of the Lord’s creatures. In Frank’s humble opinion, she was being extraordinarily generous.

Their walk to the harbor was attended by a deafening silence which, accentuated by David’s fatigued wheezes, made the whole affair seem to last much longer. Sporadic stabs of pain across his leg obligated Frank to lean more weight on his friend than he wanted. Every time his body drooped heavily against David’s, though he tried to straighten up as quickly as possible, David only strengthened the grip on his waist, grunting as they moved forward. When the docks came into view, they both sighed in relief.

Despite the time of night, there was adequate activity to hide three figures plodding along slowly and if anybody thought to question their strange movements, they could always pretend Frank had been drinking and that they’d had to drag him all the way from the tavern. As it turned out, Frank’s performance of a drunk was exceptional. The sailors laughed their little hearts out as he was taken below deck and thanks to his supposed inebriated state, he didn’t have to hold back from shouting obscenities at them.

Even though Frank tried to warn him the seasickness would hit him worse in the lower parts of the ship, David excused himself politely, deciding he would very much like to hide with the cargo. Had they made a wager on the strength of David’s stomach, the victory would belong to Karen. He wanted to tell her, he wanted to make her laugh, see if the crease between her brows would smoothen. But he said nothing. As soon as they had entered their tiny cabin, Karen started tugging at his clothes in a frenzy, pushing and pulling the fabric while she scoured his body for injuries.

“I am most worried about the leg myself,” he finally mumbled, avoiding her eyes.

“The leg, yes, I will see to it immediately.”

Before Frank could stop her, she’d ripped two long strips of fabric from her cloak and holding one in each hand, she stared at him like she was waiting for something. He had raised an inquiring eyebrow in her direction, when it dawned on him that—

“It might be easier, if you were to remove your trousers.”  

Swallowing his embarrassment, he did as instructed, removing the trousers first and then his breeches. Thankfully, his tunic reached well below his upper thigh, giving Karen access to tend to him without having her eyes assaulted by anything indecorous. He lowered himself to the bunk, stretching the afflicted leg, and waited quietly. Karen sat on the floor in front of him, applying gentle fingers to the task, her forehead glistening with a sheen of perspiration. Aware of every single painful flexing of the muscles under his skin, she cleaned the wound as best as she could and wrapped the fabric strip around his thigh, tying the ends in a tight knot. When she was done, he scrambled to his feet and put the trousers back on, forgetting about the breeches in his haste. It hurt to stand, but it didn’t hurt any less to sit, so he settled for a slanted pose instead.

“I can mend those,” said Karen, pointing at the downward-sagging hole in his trouser leg. She didn’t mention the blood stain. “I am quite good with a needle and thread.” Then she sighed, a slow heavy sound, and got up. “Now let me see the rest.”

“Perhaps we should discuss what happened,” Frank said. His fingers circled her wrist, stopping her hand from drawing the hem of his tunic. Without letting go, she twisted her wrist gently and he withdrew his hand.

“Give me what I need. Which is seeing the full extent of the damage, not consolation.” She helped him lift the tunic over his head and tossed it to the side. “You are…” She covered her mouth with her hand, gulping down a wail. “You are covered in cuts and bruises.”

“Do not trouble yourself with those. They are hardly lethal,” he snorted and she fixed him with a glare. “The last time I went into battle, I was carved up worse than this.” He took her hand in his and dragged her forefinger over a white line traversing his torso from left to right. The fresh marks scattered across his skin didn’t look as intimidating in comparison. He brought her palm to the center of his chest and pressed it there, unsure how to continue.

After a long, long moment, Karen let out the breath she’d been holding, pulled her hand free and reached up to cup his cheek. “I do not regret what I did,” she confessed, chin up, in spite of the shiver running down her spine.

“I can see that,” Frank nodded.

“Does it frighten you, that I would do it again, if it meant keeping you safe?”

“Does it frighten you?” he returned the question and she shook her head.

“May God forgive me, I would do it a thousand times over.”

It wasn’t the right time to debate God’s terms of forgiveness, it wasn’t what she needed to hear; so Frank wrapped his arms around her, holding her together, even if she wasn’t planning on falling part. “And a thousand times over you would be forgiven, if there was anything to forgive.” He kissed her damp cheeks. “The death you gave him was kinder than what I had in mind for him. You should be praised for it, not condemned.”

“I fail to see how lying down and dying could be considered unkind,” she snickered through her tears. “You practically offered yourself up for slaughter. You were about to breathe your last when we arrived.”

“The plan changed midway. My goal was for you to get away, not for me to survive,” he said, his lips forming a thin line.

“What a pity that David left his fool’s garb behind. It would have suited you perfectly,” Karen chided, pulling him closer, their foreheads gently touching.

Frank allowed himself a chuckle. “Though I need to choose a new profession, I’m afraid I could not rise up to the challenge of being a jester. I find juggling especially vexing.”

“Something simpler then,” she hummed, a finger tracing his jawline softly. “Something unremarkable.”

His mouth opened in a silent gasp, lips brushing hers, tasting, relishing. With his thoughts occupied entirely by her, the word ‘unremarkable’ seemed completely out of place.

 

❦❦❦

 

The dusk painted long shadows on the walls of his homestead. The door was left slightly ajar and when he walked in, he found a stew simmering in a pot over the hearth and his wife’s prized possession, a book on botany, lying open on the kitchen table. She hadn’t gone past page 101, where a watery smudge had blurred some of the words over a passage about lycium. An all too familiar, eerie silence had spread into every nook and corner of the house. This wasn’t the warm welcome he anticipated upon his return. They had been living undisturbed in this country for six years. Even back when he’d been constantly watchful, he’d never felt the shadow of danger looming over their heads.  Floorboards groaning under his boots, a sudden fear rose in his heart.

“There you are,” Karen charged him as he was about to run into the bedchamber, forgetting about the basket full of herbs she was carrying, which was now crushed awkwardly between them. She kissed circles around his face. “I was expecting you home later, but since you are here, perhaps you can convince your son to come inside. You will find him in the field out back.”

“What is it this time?” he asked with a smile.

“He is an explorer,” she said fondly.

“And what exactly is he searching for?”

“That, I do not know,” she grinned. “Insects to bother, perhaps.”

“I should hurry,” Frank said and rushed out, imagining with horror his son’s face dotted with bee stings.

The tall grass behind their house swayed as though touched by a gentle breeze, but he had seen its blades moving while a small animal scurried through them before, and he immediately recognized the pattern of his son’s bumbling motion. “Where are you, miting?” he shouted, waiting for the predictable fit of giggles that rose over the greenery a few seconds later. “Do you think you could cease your exploration and join us for supper?”

A little dark head popped up among the green. “On whose orders?”

“Your mother’s, who rules over us both and whose kindness we mustn’t abuse.”

Reluctantly, the little boy came out of his hiding place, making sure to demonstrate his discontent by kicking the ground every other step. Frank lifted him up in his arms and tried to wipe some of the dirt off his face. “It would seem that the intrepid explorer has transformed into a proper little rat,” he grinned and, cheered by the absurdity of the thought, his son burst into peals of laughter. Frank kissed his dusty cheek as many times as he could before they entered the house. Inside, Karen was setting the table and as soon as his feet touched the floor, the boy dashed to her, pulling on her skirt.

“Maman, I am a rat!” he exclaimed with delight.

“Are you? Then that must mean we are all rats,” she humored him. “Tell me, have I grown whiskers since this morning?”

She bent down, wiggling her nose at him, to which he responded with more laughter, and she grabbed him and squeezed him in her arms until they were both squeaking, out of breath. Frank stood there and watched them, unable to look away from the magnificent scene.

“Now, wash your hands and your face, and come sit down at the table,” Karen said, messing up his hair, and the boy went without complaint. Then she turned to Frank apologetically. “Are we too loud for your liking?”

“No.” He crossed the distance to her in three steps and gave her a quick kiss. “Be louder, if you wish. Don’t hold back on my account.”   

“I never hold back on your account,” Karen blushed and returned the kiss.

Their son cleared his throat behind them and they had to try very hard not to laugh at the sound. “Could I play some more, instead of eating?” he begged, his eyes lighting up with hope.

“Sit down, Endres,” said his mother kindly and then pulled up a chair for him.

Despite all his protests against sitting down to eat, he seemed too consumed with eating once the plate was set before him, stuffing his mouth with stew and almost forgetting to chew before gulping down eagerly. Karen informed him of the advantages of chewing, but he didn’t seem inclined to listen, so she ended the lecture by telling him that if he was so keen on choking, there was nothing she could do to stop him. The previously boring task came to him easily after that, and Frank had to rub a grin off his face with a quick hand.

“Might I inquire your opinion on something?” Karen began in a tone declaring that whatever the subject was, his opinion wouldn’t change her mind. “Sarah came to visit today, bringing news of yet another foundling.”

“Am I a foundling?” Endres interrupted.

“Sometimes I think you ought to be,” Frank replied, pinching his cheek, but his pleasant expression quickly disappeared, giving way to a look of concern. There were only so many foundlings the nunneries could afford to take in. He sighed. “Another girl?”

Karen nodded. “I thought we could spare some money on the baby’s keep. They might turn her out otherwise.”

From the corner of his eye, he spotted the pouch resting on a shelf by the door. He shouldn’t be surprised; there were only a few things his wife wouldn’t sacrifice for the sake of charity. “Provided that we can still feed our child, I can’t conceive of a reason to refuse feeding another.”

“Then we are in agreement,” she smiled.

“There is, of course, another option.”

She tilted her head at him, her eyebrows arching. “There is?”

“We could take the baby.”

Karen looked at their son, who stared back at her with a droopy-eyed grin. “We will discuss this further when the boy has gone to sleep.”

“I will never sleep,” the boy retorted, slamming a dull fist on the table.

“You said the same thing last night,” she reached out and curled a lock of his hair around her finger.

“The same thing he says every night,” Frank laughed, leaning forward and rubbing his nose against his son’s.

While having every intention to appear serious and tough, his parents’ combined affection made his face shine with joy, as he insisted that he truly meant it this time; sleep would be banished from their household forever. A few stretches and yawns later, he was more than ready to go to bed. Or rather, be taken to it, nestled in his mother’s arms, as she lulled him with one of her German songs. Frank cleared the table and went outside, closing the door behind him gently. Out there, the quiet was so deep he could almost hear the stars twinkling. He forgot, sometimes, that there was no reason to be afraid anymore. But Karen was always there to remind him.  

“Come inside, it is too cold,” she said from the door.

“Come outside, make me warm,” he replied, opening his arms and she dove into his embrace. He hugged her closer to his chest, pressed a kiss to the top of her golden head and sighed fondly.

“Is that warmth enough for you?” Karen whispered against his neck.

A chuckle rose from his throat. “You know I am not so easily sated.”

“Oh, I do know and glad I am of it.”

Though he couldn’t see the color on her cheeks, they felt hot under his palms as he took her face in his hands and kissed her. “If I were more selfish and had no care for twigs and leaves tangling in your hair…” His lips grazed the words onto hers.

“Let us speak of selfless things first,” she told him, a promise smoldering in her voice.

“The foundling,” he groaned and drew back. “I never meant to impose this duty on you. Only, it seems reasonable that if the child is to be abandoned a second time…”

“Somebody should claim her,” she finished his thought for him.

“Yes.” His shoulders rose and fell with a deep breath. “I believe our bed is big enough for four people.” It went without saying that their hearts were big enough too.

“It will have to be,” Karen nodded with a grin. “Or you will have to build us another.”

“Oh, the chore it will be to manage two children,” Frank laughed.

“A wonderful chore,” she said and reached for his hand. “But though I seem to have made you happy, I fear I have failed you in a different respect, my love. All those years married and I still have not taught you how to count.”

“What do you mean?”

“Perhaps counting together will help.” She lifted up his hand, holding it between them. “Endres, asleep inside,” she said and touched the tip of his forefinger with hers.

“One,” Frank huffed and then, immediately, “This is silly.”

She ignored him and continued, tapping his middle finger. “A foundling, asleep at the nunnery.”

“Somebody else might claim her before we do,” he said, trying to keep his enthusiasm to a minimum, although he could feel it taking over.

“Let us count her regardless.”

“Two,” he grumbled.

“And this one makes three,” she said, putting his palm on her stomach.

His annoyance at her method of teaching flew off his face, his eyes widening. She was right to insist on him learning to count because, until now, he hadn’t thought to count his blessings. Not for the first time since he laid eyes on her, she overwhelmed him.

Karen laughed a bubbling laugh. “Will you ever forget how to count to three again?”

“No, I don’t think I will,” he said, suddenly out of breath, as he leaned his head on her chest, wondering if it was his heartbeat echoing in his ears, or hers, or both.

“Prove it.”

“I love you,” he told her in his softest voice, straightening up to kiss the corner of her lips.

“I require further proof,” she said, stepping away from him and into the grassland ahead, brisk fingers undoing the laces of her bodice.

Frank had heard outlandish stories of fairies stealing men’s voices and as he watched his wife sway under the stars, he thought, mesmerized, that losing his voice would be a small price to pay for all the gifts she had given him. But he hadn’t lost it, it was still there, caught in his throat, and he summoned it to say, louder this time “I love you.”  

“If you love me, come warm me,” Karen said with a bright smile and opened her arms for him. “Come put leaves and twigs in my hair.”

And he did.


End file.
